Shrouded Passion
by Owsla
Summary: When Farren, a Bolton vassal, attends a grand ceremony at Winterfell, she never expected to fall in love. But when she and Robb Stark meet, sparks fly. Ancestral loyalties force them to keep their love secret. They vow to let nothing come between them, but when war, secrets, treason, and duty test their bond, they begin to realize it may take more than love to hold them together.
1. A call to Winterfell

**Hello! Thank you for taking an interest in my fan fiction story, or for just stopping by for a look. ˙u˙**

Just a note for you the reader- This story contains cannon and non-cannon elements. I own no rights to any names in this story. This Fic follows HBO's Game of Thrones rather than ASOIAF. by timeline, characters, and names. I used only two characters not portrayed in the show, Roose Bolton's former wife, Bethany Ryswell and his son Domeric.

Shrouded Passion is a torn love story, filled with ups and downs and secrets. The story regards the Bannermen sworn to House Bolton. A family who fought for the Boltons in the war of the five kings. The story begins with Farren's tale.

)( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )( )(

Farren learned to keep her desires small as a glance. A glimpse of Winterfell was her wish, but Bolton Banners overtook land and the horizon. Flags of her Liege Lord flying in the icy wind. A sight too familiar. The dismal display of flayed men she could stand no longer.

It was a long journey, but her small wish came granted by the sky. The clouds run through, and Winterfell seized the landscape with towers rising high.

"It's beautiful," Farren admitted in her gaze. "Winterfell is just how a castle should look. I wish to….." Farren cringed as a strand of fabric swiped her in the face. She turned angerly, and growled, "Hazel if you let that ugly banner hit me in the face one more time, I'm going to rip the staff out of your hands!"

Beside her rode her brother Hazel, who carried a banner of the flayed man. Farren heard him snicker when his flag gave her nose a lick. She scowled at him. Though a year younger than her, Hazel was more accomplished. Rising to a high military rank, and serving in Lord Bolton's calvary. His achievements annoyed her knowing she had yet to master even her stitching.

 _Not that I care. She brooded over the thought._

Farren leaned high in her saddle to take in the castle. Although she was a northerner Farren had never seen Winterfell. She longed to see the castle and finally found the chance.

Lord Eddard supplied her the opportunity. He had summoned his high lords to renew their oaths of fealty through individual ceremonies. When the Lord called upon the Lord of The Dreadfort, Farren was given the honor to attend.

Her house Frith was a minor noble House sworn to House Bolton. The lord's of Frith were deeply loyal to their ruling overlords. Farren's her grandfather her head of House. Lord Frith was a devoted Lord, a Captain, who shared in command of the Bolton army. His castle, Warren, she called home.

Farren became introduced to noble society in Bolton court, attending her Lord's feasts and ceremonies from a young age. That once had a meaning but meant nothing to her now in knowing what lie ahead. Winterfell waited, and Farrens excitement became littered with envy in the sight of splendor.

"Why can't we live miles away from this instead of the Dreadfort?"

"Farren No one said you couldn't live near Winterfell. I'm sure there's a mud hut nearby that'd suit you perfectly."

"I'd rather live in a broken down barn by Winterfell, rather than a Castle overlooking the Dreadfort."

Hazel scoffed with a snort, "It's not as if you can see the Dreadfort from your tower window. It's over thirty miles from Castle Warren."

Farren cast him a jesting grin. "Thank the gods. I'd have to burn my eyes out otherwise."

She despised the keep of House Bolton and the banners it flew. Farren much loved the banners of her house. Frith banners were pride-worthy, with their regal black Rabbit on a field of white over green. A fall of snow on the northern grass. She gazed at the banner at the flayed man her brother carried.

 _I hate that thing. Hideous Bolton flag. Why are you so ugly!?_

Farren thought turned sour in the sight of the flag, She turned to her brother with a crossed brow, "Why do you have to carry one."

"Well, as a standard bearer I'm charged to," Hazel's tone obvious.

"Hazel you should be flying a banner of the Rabbit, a Frith banner."

"I think a rabbit banner might stick out in this line of Bolton flags. Frith banners are reserved only for our host, but we're traveling in Lord Bolton's assembly, so we're to carry the standard of our liege."

Farren knew her brother thought it an honor to carry the Bolton banner, and it annoyed her. Farren released an irritated sigh. "Isn't your arm getting tired?"

Hazel adjusted his shoulder with a stretch. "It feels like it fell asleep hours ago."

Farren's brow lifted, she smiled, "You should lower your banner, let it drag in the mud. It'll probably improve the look."

"Oh, should I ride it to the front then?" Hazel asked, with a sarcastic grin. "I know, I'll ride it to the front of the line and tell Lord Bolton to carry his banner awhile, tell em I'm sick of holding it. He'll understand, I just know he'd say, "Sure Hazel, let me take that for you, you go just relax a while. Oh and thanks for letting my sigil drag in the mud, what a fine touch."

Farren's eyes grinned, then closely narrowed in on movement atop the castle's battlements. Gray emblems of House Stark twisted in the wind.

"Look, dire wolf banners! Oh.." She shut her mouth to kept herself from swooning. Knowing her brother would laugh at her is she had. "Hazel, wouldn't you rather be carrying such a fair sigil as a dire wolf?"

"Farren I've been carrying a Bolton sigil since I was eleven, and our ancestors have been for thousands of years. Do you honestly think I mind its appearance? In fact, I like the banners we're sworn to carry. The Flayed Man reminds our enemies who they're going up against."

"A wolf is just as intimidating," She stated firmly, but her expression softened, and she sweetly sighed, "The Stark's is perfect sigil."

Hazel half rolled his eyes, "You know Farren, you should hear yourself. Sometimes you sound like a true flighty little maiden."

She scoffed with the refrain from smacking her brother in the head. She may still be a maiden, but she wasn't a loft headed girl.

She turned her gaze forward once more and felt humbled by the castle's grandeur. A structure built for royalty. Never would know such a life. She had a little chance having not born to a minor house. If her lord father were a Stark bannermen, then her house would be equal to the Bolton's, instead of one their vassals. That would never happen, not unless she married into a greater house. A great house. Farren glanced down at her horses mane and smirked. Perhaps she could marry a Stark.

 _In a dream perhaps._ She thought with a deep exhale. At least once she reached Winterfell she could have the chance to meet Lord Stark's eldest son. The one she knew of and heard so much about, the perfect Robb Stark.

"Mother, I know Lord Stark's eldest son is Robb, but what are the names of his other chil-—Hazel!—"

When the Flayed man hit her in the face again, Farren veered her horse into her brother's, leaning over to grab the staff. She lunged when he held it out of her reach laughing with a smirk.

"Hazel stop tormenting her." Farren heard her mother call to her brother. "You're lucky your grandfather and father are at the front, if he saw you playing with that banner, he'd be furious." Her voice kind and to a point, rather than scolding. "Oh, and Farren you are indeed right, that banner is an ugly thing. So Hazel, have the decency to keep it out of your sisters face."

The three of them laughed, and Farren smiled. She looked to the castle once more. Around her marched a long line of soldiers and lords. Men whose sons carried hideous banners of House Bolton. An icy wind stung her face. Horses hooves dug into the ground, pulling up hard black mud, with a bitter smell. Flags of the flayed man flapped under a slate sky. Deep in a depressing world, Farren remained in high spirits. Winterfell triumphed as a stroke of light in the center of a flurry snow frame.

* * *

The great hall of Winterfell was packed with Bolton's Banners, surely an unusual sight. Hoping for a glimpse of Lord Eddard's oldest son Farren stood on her toes for a better view. She'd heard the Lord Paramount's eldest son was quite handsome. It enticed her to at least have a peek at him.

Two lines of standard bearers stood with an ally between them, one side Bolton sigils, the other Stark. Farren huffed, annoyed with the row of flayed man banners on her side. The flags all blocked her sight from any members of the Stark family.

"Hazel" She whispered. "Move your banner, I want to see Robb Stark."

"Shhh, Shut up Farren," He slurred, "They are in the middle of the ceremony."

Farren scowled, _I did not ride all the way to this castle to hear Lord Bolton say some words._ She crossed her arms in bitter thought

She peered through the backs of heads and flayed man banners, moving to find the right view, which she just couldn't achieve. So instead, she turned to watch as Lord Bolton bent the knee before Lord Stark, presenting his sword.

Farren understood by the traditional commendation ceremonies all lord's bannermen pledged their homage and oath of loyalty to their liege lord. House Stark's bannermen such as the Bolton's did so to House Stark. Bolton bannermen such as house Frith did so to House Bolton and so on down the line. Farren had seen her grandfather kneel before Lord Bolton with sword and oath many times.

 _Uhh, this is so boring._ Farren thought weary.

"Hazel…Hazel," She whispered softly. "Move your banner just to the right."

Hazel peered over his shoulder with a low growl, "You'll get me in trouble. sShutup."

Farren pressed her lips together sourly, irked by her brother. Currently, board, she looked her brother over. Hazel was no longer a boy but a broad shouldered young man. With his wispy short brown hair and handsome features, He had the look of their father. Farren looked nothing like him. Her long black of hair was so dark that her father called her Blackberry. Under the ebony, Farren saw the world through two pale ghostly eyes.

She shifted her gaze to Lord Bolton on a knee before Lord Stark. It was an odd sight, she knew all men knelt to the king, but it was the lord's Paramount and highest noble houses that his grace received personal homage. Although all lords were under the kings rule, his grace simply didn't have time to hold the ceremony of lesser lords. Perhaps Lord Bolton may have been granted the honor, but the Frith lord's never, as far as she knew.

For her house's own, Farren always had to give the full listing on her mind.

 _We have sworn our vassals, grandfather's captain, his legion, our twelve bannerman, our steward, castellan, guardsmen, battalions, tradesmen, mother's loyal knights and of corse the small folk._ Farren thought, convincing herself the latter was a lengthy impressive list. Vast for a minor house, but she knew it was nothing too gratifying.

She thought of her house's place on the ladder, then how high and important was that of the Stark's. She always needed reassurance, remembering that at least she was still a noble, at least, Lord Bolton held her house in high regard, probably due to Frith's utter ancient loyalty. Her ancestors were always among Lord Bolton's highest ranking militants, sharing in the command of the Bolton army.

 _As if any of that meant anything to anyone. She thought with a sigh._

She stood staring at the opposite row of banners, a long row of handsome gray dire wolves on white backdrops, how beautiful she thought them. Then her eyes met the Bolton banners before her. That horrid flayed man sigil she despised.

 _Ugly Bolton sigil. Why couldn't you be a dire wolf! A Bear or a lion! Eh, even a slug would be better than a bloody flayed man._

Farren sighed in disgust. Why did her house have to carry the Bolton sigil? It wasn't fair. Her brow crossed thinking of her ancestor's folly in a choice of their loyalty thousands of years ago.

She ran her fingers over pendant at her neck, a regal rabbit engraved in black and silver. That was her house sigil, that of her fathers. As ancient as that gruesome flayed man, though regal in place of grim. She was pleased with seeing the same black Rabbit clasping the kerchief at her brother's neck. He wore it well, as did their father and grandfather. The black rabbit of Frith always made her smile. The rabbit sigil a reminder of her home and the land where it flew.

A soft muttering voice turned Farren's head. She glanced at its source and found the mumbling sound was coming from her mother. Farren noticed her mother's expression, her smile expressed a superior taste, and her eyes were satisfied and smug. The women spoke to no one in the murmur of a whisper.

"That's where that dog belongs, on a knee, lowering himself before an actual man of honor,"

Farren's brow hopped up in thought. It was odd for her mother to be so insensible. It was out of character for the loving, kind women she knew. It wasn't the first time Farren heard her mother speak ill of Lord Bolton, often wondering why her mother had such a distaste for the man. Nearly a hatred. Even when the lord's late son and his lady wife were laid to rest, her animosity showed. Farren remembered her mother brooded over going to their mornings. She pressed her lips, immersed in thought, mulling the matter over in her mind.

Her thoughts by grabbed by excitement. A sudden grin graced her face as she clasped her hands at her chest.

 _Finally! Finally, that ugly flag moved!_ Farren's eyes glared forward as the flayed man banner gave way to a view.

With a good glimpse of the Lord Stark's eldest son Farren took in a breath of desire. Robb Stark looked like everything she heard he would. Handsomely striking, broad shouldered and clearly strong, as a whole flawless featured man in the high prime of his youth.

She leaned in his direction, moving for a better view. Farren's eyes grew wide. Her heart leaped as his gaze met her undeviatingly. His pupils darted aside, then back to her suddenly still. His gaze large and locked in an exchange with hers.

She smiled without effort as an attractive grin graced his face. His stare unlocked when nudged. Farren blushed, she watched him follow his father. Her lips parted when He looked over his shoulder. His gaze grabbed her once more, studying her with grinning wide eyes.

In that last shared glance, Farren vowed to find Robb at the after feast, and she was determined. Otherwise, she would regret it fiercely, and face defeat on the return to her Bolton sworn homeland.

* * *

 _The name Frith, as well as several of my_ oc's _names and themes, I adapted from the book series of Watership Down. As an homage to my another favorite of mine. **˙u˙**_


	2. A night in the wood

**This chapter preview - Farren and Robb become acquainted. He shows her the god's wood in Winterfell.**

* * *

Farren fidgeted with her dinner knife in frustration. Robb sat across the feast hall. His table bench opened up as the feast grew social. She hadn't found the courage to approach him. When the music changed the melody, Farren sighed. She had told herself to join Robb before the song ended, but her nerves had defeated her.

 _Next song for sure._ She thought optimistic.

Farren huffed as the following song came and went. She remained planted alongside her closest friend and a few other Bolton lord's daughters. Being placed at the rear of the feast hall allowed her a glimpse of Robb only when she sat up tall. She extended her neck to improve her view.

"You have been staring at that Stark boy all evening." Farren heard her friend Collet state.

"I know." Farren exhaled her longing. She leaned on the table as Collet pointed to the opposite wall, "Look, Hazel's near Robb's table, go over to him. He's never shy. He's over there talking to Lord Stark's other son."

Farren shifted he gaze across the Room. She saw Hazel leaning against the wall surrounded by a small group. Among them, the boy Collet claimed as the lord's second son. "That's not Lord Stark's other son," She answered, her eyes remained fixed on Robb. "That's just Lord Stark's ward, the Greyjoy boy," Farren said. She turned to her friend wishing to share her knowledge of the Starks, a new secret pride.

"Lord Stark's other son, is the Lord's bastard. I believe his name is Jon Sno-" Farren brow crossed as she scoff. "-Why does Hazel have some girl under his arm? He knows what'll happen If my Grandfather sees's him." She pressed her lips sourly at the sight.

She turned when Collet clasped a hand on her shoulder "You should go over and sit with Robb. You said you'd regret it if you didn't."

It seemed regret was no doubt in her future. Farren thought for a second to heed her friend, but nerves got the better of her. The lack of courage crowded her mind and mouth with excuses.

"I don't want to leave you sitting here by yourself," She confessed. It was an innocent lie, one her good friend would surely see through.

Clearly proven in Collet's stare and demanding sigh. "Go to Robb Farren!" She urged.

Farren ran a hand over her eyes with a rustled exhale, "I can't just go over there. We were never properly introduced."

"No one has! I didn't get introduced." Collet raised her palms. "You didn't get introduced. I didn't get introduced, do you think Daria Locke got introduced?"

"Phsst, No, I doubt her father woul—She's sitting beside him!" Slamming her napkin on the table, Farren rose quickly. "That little harlot!"

The notion of competition was all she needed to shed her insecurity. The music changed once more as she weaved through the crowded hall to Robb's table, forcing her smile to rebound. By spending the evening staring at Robb, she didn't realize a girl was beside him. Daria Locke ran fingers through her stringy hair as she leaned close to Robb.

"Argh, I hate that girl," Farren mumbled bitterly.

She weaved her way through the crowded hall to his table and boldly took a seat just across from Robb Stark. "Hi, Daria," Farren said with a lovely false voice. "Mind if I join you?"

Farren didn't wait for a response. Her gaze met Robb's immediately. His eyes grow wide in a steady connection with hers. He relinquished his stare a small head shake and a greeting smile "I'm sorry my lady, I believe we were never introduced. I'm Robb Stark of Winterfell."

Farren smiled, his observing the courtesies had her remember her own. "Farren, of House Frith, my lord. Um, my father's a Bolton bannerman."

 _Obviously Farren, uh, stupid._ She bashed herself knowing the hall was only full of them.

"It's a pleasure, my lady," He said, his voice profoundly kind.

Farren's grin equaled his. Her anxiety faded at the sight of his expression. Her eyes wavered when she saw Daria grace her fingers over the back of Robbs' hand. Her nails were overly clean. Farren knew her own usually were not to that extent on a good day. She fingers tips under the table.

She balled her fists under the table. Daria lock was a straggly haired twit. She had a dirty reputation for being easy for boys to bed. Farren figured having a lowly nature was a family trait of Daria Locke's. The girl's uncle was a disreputable man and said to be barbaric. Farren knew the man was an accessory of Lord Bolton's, his tracker or something. Delivering Bolton fugitives to the Dreadfort and using savage means.

 _If Robb Stark can suffer your company, Daria, then he'll think me a relief. At the least._ Farren thought with observing the girl.

"Farren's grandfather is the Prince of Bunnies." Daria mocked informing Robb.

Farren heard the obnoxious wine the girl's voice possessed. Regardless the comical grin that formed on Robb's lips embarrassed Farren. She swallowed the emotion with a shrug. "It's a title held continuously by my head of house.. and it's Rabbits. Daria."

People of a shallow nature often mocked her grandfather's title as the Prince of Bunnies. A rabbit may not be an animal of strength, but to reference the animal in a child's term was diminishing. Crass manners always pestered Farren.

Fortunately, Daria didn't reveal the whole Frith title. The head of House Frith by tradition held the honored of The Prince of Rabbits and Lord of a thousand enemies. The title was passed down through generations. The Prince of Rabbits part Farren didn't mind, it was the second half that always ruined it.

When Daria Locke finally shut her mouth, it placed an end on distraction. Farren found herself captured by Robb's gaze. His eyes lingered on her alone.

"Ohff" Farren muttered as she was nudged down on the bench. Hazel pushed his way beside her, and the girl who was hanging all over him wedged between. Farren desperately wanted to shove Hazel's little harlot back for moving her down from Robb. She scowled in refrain yet another boy joined Hazel's side.

The boy's face showed an open smirk as he spoke, "Robb this is Hazel of House Frith."

Robb smiled charismatically, "Pleased to meet you." He greeted Hasel generously.

"Likewise my Lord," Hazel said turning his attention to the girl beside Robb, "Hey, Daria, this is Theon Greyjoy. Theon's the heir to Pyke. He's to be lord of the Iron Islands, did you know his father was once a king."

Farren let out a soft, angry sigh. Hazel simply ignored her, skipping her introduction. She noticed Daria perk up with a wide smile and gleaming eyes.

"He was a king?...Really?" Farren saw Daria raise a brow. The girl then eyed the boy with a sensual smile on her lips, "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord."

Farren rolled her eyes when the boy took Daria's hand in his. He caressed Daria's hand with a with a thumb. He charmed Daria with small effort. "You can't be a mere Bolton vassal's daughter." The boy said to Daria "My lady, not with eyes like those, would you come around so I may have a better look."

A farce tone ruled the boy's voice. The sound caused Farren to huff. Daria was fool enough to be easily taken in by anyone's flattery. The girl was easy prey in any boys lust driven eyes. She rounded the table where the Greyjoy boy wasted no time pulling her into his lap.

Farren looked on in disgust and loathing when Hazel too pulled his harlot girl in his lap. -Hazel If Grandfather sees, he's going to lynch you. She thought with a wish to scold him. However, She smiled in the realization Daria was no longer sitting beside Robb Stark.

With the other two couples engaging in intimate conversation and Robb down the table, Farren sat quietly alone. Melancholy came but went just as sudden when She looked up to find Robb staring at her. He sat before her once again, and on his effort. Amidst the sight of Robb's beaming expression, Farren smiled naturally. The young man's smile painted his face with a radiant glow.

"Prince of Rabbits was it?" Robb's brow raised enthusiastically.

"It's just a traditional title" Farren blushed. "Passed down through house Frith. My grandfather holds it now, but someday my father will than my brother Hazel and so on."

"Yes of course. I understand how traditional titles work," Said gave a comprehensive nod, "Theon over there, his father hold's the title is Lord Reaper of Pyke, as only heir Theon will be named as such one day too." He breathed deeply "So, my lady once your father inherits his title, I guess that will make you the daughter of the Prince of Rabbits. If I'm not mistaken, I think that makes you royalty my lady." He said flirting, causing Farren's cheeks to blush alongside her smile.

When the others rose from the table, Robb perked his head up with curiosity, "Where are you all off to?"

"Walk in the god's wood," Theon told him grabbing Daria's waist.

"Care to join them, my lady," Robb held a hand out for Farren. Her heart lifted, light as a cloud when excepting his soft touch.

* * *

Deep in the good's wood, the castle lighting dissolved. It's quality replaced by the muted glow of a half moon. The hum of the feast vanished into a quiet tranquility.

Amidst the trees the pairs split ways. Farren's gaze followed those who departed. The shaded wood appeared to bring out a greater lust the boy Theon had for Daria. From a distance, Farren saw him planted on a root with Daria in his lap. He sucked on her neck. Farren clasped her eyes tight barring the sight of Daria's exposed naked breast.

Farren turned her head having overheard a giggle in the opposite glade. Cloaked in the shadows Hazel pressed his companion against the trunk of a tree. He kissed as if he knew her too well. Hazel began to untie the jerkin laces of his pants. He pulled back from his kiss and grinned when the girl reached down to help him.

 _Eww. Gods Hazel._ Farren thought quickly averting her eyes.

Farren was glad Neither couple claimed the heart tree's base, leaving the ideal spot free to Her and Robb. A cool wind caressed Farren's skin. The breeze rustled the Wierwood's crimson leaves as she took a seat beneath.

The faint twilight cast through the tree tops, its radiance allowed Farren to see boy beside her. Robb's eyes gathered the sparse glow. He stared at Farren. She welcomed his gaze feeling it warm and inviting.

"I've never seen such pale-colored eyes. Robb said, His pupils traced Farren's side to side. "They are lovely."

"Thank you." Farren smiled. His complement gave her hope, but conquering her nerves remained a challenge. Her mind constructed a tower of anxiety.

He'd yet to even touch her. Anticipation filled her mind. Surely he would pull her into his lap as the others. She stroked her arm as her courage wavered. She had never been courted by boys before. A few neighboring lord's sons, one even felt her breast and tried to run a hand up her inner thigh, too far up. Farren recalled haveing stopped him before he could do anything further. She was younger than and so naive she hadn't expected the action.

Wet sounds of kissing spread from the forest filling Farren's ears. Every so ofter she heard a moan or grunt in the darkness, the noises presented discomfort.

Robb shifted close to her. Facing him seemed to generate confidence in Robb. Farren's eyes grew heavy as he tipped his head, moving his lips in close and hovering inches from her own. Farren leaned forward to accept his kiss. Farren heard him hum as he tasted her tongue with his own. His hand moved the length of her leg and traveled to her thigh. His kiss grew deep as he caressed it, his touch rounded to her back, gripping it to pull her body to his.

He drew away from her lips with a charming smile, "You're very beautiful Farren of house Frith." He flirted. Farren smiled at his intended humor by derided courtesy. He gazed at her as if longing for more. Farren felt his fingers flow through her hair, and again his lips joined hers. Farren closed her eyes as he rubbed her lower back. Robb nuzzled her neck, sucking it softly. When his hand cupped her breast, Farren willingly breathed him in.

Her heart raced when He pulled her into his lap. He touched his lips to hers in passion. Farren graced over his hard desire as he hummed in pleasure. As she slipped low in his lap, Robb's kiss grew delayed then shortly withdrew. He shifted Farren gently, removing her from his thighs. Farren gazed at Robb her eyes questioning his pause. He appeared hesitant. Farren sought to ask him why he'd held back but remained silent. The thought faded when Robb's fingers mingled with hers and the return of embracing kiss. Farren's eyes lifted wide, her ears gathering sudden sound.

"Whats all this then?" Farren clenched her eyes hearing brother's jesting voice.

She looked past Robb to descry the intruders. The figures of Hazel and harlot girl emerged lit in shadow. Farren pressed her lips in annoyance with Hazel's smug appearance. His arm hung lazily across her shoulders of his consort as she adjusted her hair and tousled frock. Farren held back a laugh when noticing the girl so disheveled. Hazel clearly had his way.

Farren's gaze fell back to Robb. He sighed with a content smile. He helped Farren up and walked with her hand in his. With their return, he politely bid Farren good night, kissing her hand. As he parted his gaze adhered to her in a silent farewell.

* * *

Farren laid In her pavilion thinking only of Robb. Her pleasant thoughts opposed by Hazel's soft snores. She turned on her side with a sigh. Across the room, Hazel lie sprawled across his trundle.

He looked well worn from the evening. Sleeping carelessly and with a satisfied expression. Farren wondered if the girl who hung on him all night was lying awake thinking of Hazel. _That poor girl._ Farren thought at the sight of her brother.

She gazed up at the canopy and wondered if Robb was sleeping as sound as Hazel. Careless and fulfilled. She closed her eyes deciding the night meant something to Robb. His eyes remained frozen in her mind. Farren hummed in bliss and savored image. She found confidence in Robb Stark's eyes.

* * *

 **Next chapter preview - After the night with Robb Farren travels back to her homeland. She runs into a certain Bolton bastard.**


	3. Homelands and Hunts

**Chapter preview** Farren and her brother run into trouble.

* * *

Morning broke Farren's luckless heart. A sunrise departure denied her the chance to bid Robb farewell. It was unfair, knowing her father and grandfather remained at Winterfell. Farren had glanced over her shoulder before Winterfell disappeared. Avoiding undesired company, Farren hung to the rear of the touring party. She had no appetite for conversation. Even at the inn where they rested, Farren kept to herself. In her mind lingered Robb Stark and the hard-stricken truth.

 _Robb's father is Lord Stark, the warden of the north. I should never have teased myself._

The notion grew lost. Farren decided Robb had likely forgotten her. Relinquishing her maiden dreams She bent to her brother's company. Where Hazel greeted her with a sly smile. "You've been brooding the entire ride," Hazel said with a growing grin. "It's over Robb Stark isn't it?"

Farren turned from him to hide her scowl. "No, I couldn't mind. I'm just tired from the ride." In her wish to avoid the subject of Robb Farren's tongue grew stern. "You know you're lucky Grandfather didn't see you enter those woods with that girl you were with."

Hazel released a huff of judgment, "Same in your regard Farren. Did you forget you were in the god's wood as well?…Remember…with Robb Stark."

He knew how to tease her where it struck most causing her to ruminate on the subject. "Yeah well, we weren't doing what you and that girl were."

"Good, you shouldn't be," Hazel said firmly, causing Farren to roll her eyes.

"Oh, but its ok for you to with that poor girl."

Hazel turned to her. "I knew she was no maiden."

"How...how would you know unless you and her….." She avoided saying the act. Thinking it odd Farren raised a brow, she understood maidens bleed. Hazel couldn't have known, not before bedding the girl. Doubtlessly he just asked her. Frustrated with her curiosity, Farren sighed, "How exactly did you know?"

"I knew because Theon told me she wasn't. He also said she would be no challenge. So he introduced me to her like I did Daria to him. Daria Locke's always been a sure thing, pretty much an open gate to anyone."

Although she knew he was right about the harlot girl, Farren shot Hazel a look of disgust, "In the midst of the feast you just start up a conversation with that boy Theon, about bedding girls?"

Hazel snickered with a grin. Considering amusing Farren smiled. Strangely Hazel then turned to her with a serious expression. "I'll admit Farren it made me nervous seeing him with you. Theon told me I needn't worry, and I'm thankful Robb Stark an honorable man. As it is, I knew you wouldn't do anymore."

Feeling irritated, Farren pressed her lips. Hazel thought her a prude little maiden. It was degrading for a strange reason."And how do you know we didn't?" Farren answered annoyed.

Hazel's gaze met her's directly, "You didn't,"

With a sigh, Farren tilted her head. Hazel knew her overly well, "Okay true. But Robb's not like you or that Theon boy."

"Yeah, he is," Hazel admitted, "All men are. And he probably wanted you. But it's easy to see he respects you." Hazel's brow crossed. "You better not even think of doing such a thing until your wed, in fact, I forbid you to."

Hazel was her younger brother. She scoffed at his audacity. "Why is it you can just go off with who you please and I'm to wait. I'm a year older than you!"

"If you don't wait, you'll only regret it," Hazel said with certainty.

Farren would have crossed her arms if she wasn't on horseback. "How is it you never have any regrets?"

Hazel smirked, "I couldn't tell you." His brow rose as a satisfied breath escaped him. Farren wished not to listen when he turned to her, "As a noble-born girl, you should wait until your wed," Hazel told her with a look of care. "...Or at least for someone who loves you."

What he said was wise. Still her thoughts remained vivid and profound in her regard for Robb Stark. She dipped her head to hide a grin. The memory became fantasy. Easily she pictured Robb delicately laying her down under Winterfell's heart tree, so to take her in the grass. Making love under the Wierwood would build a savored fiction.

* * *

A light flurry greeted them when entering the Bolton region. The Flayed Man banners separated over the sheep hills as the riding assembly parted. Farren's party moved east down the Weeping Water. To ride the high banks would lead them to Castle Warren. Farren bundled in her fur cloak as a chilled wind whipped her hair. The gale faded as the snow died down. The clouds broke apart across the river and brightened up the stonework of old mill.

Pointing past Farren, Hazel leaned over in his saddle. "That's mill," He whispered. "The one where Lord Bolton raped the miller's wife. And there," Hazel's hand guided her eyes to a twisted black tree. "The branch where Lord Bolton hung the Miller."

With an anxious stare, Farren eyed the stone mill and then the crooked black tree. Its large roots jutted into the ground and out of the rocky banks. Looking up, Farren saw the limb, high and wide. Farren closed her. She thought It can not be true when no image came to mind. She couldn't picture the hanging noose or Lord Bolton beneath it.

"Hazel, Grandfather said that's just a story made up by the small folk."

Hazel turned to Farren unconvinced, "Well, apparently, Lord Bolton raped the women then justified it by saying she denied him his right to the first night."

Farren shook her head, "Lord's no longer have that right, it was made a law long ago."

"Then why does Lord Bolton have that one bastard from the mill? The one born to the millers wife, the boy he brought to the Dreadfort a few years back."

Farren knew the fact, but it proved nothing. "lords can have bastards Hazel, even Lord Stark has one."

"Sure, but they say that Lord Bolton's bastard was born of rape…" Hazel tilted closer to Farren, overhanging his saddle, "I say he did it." He said plainly.

Farren looked at him with a slight frown, "How could you think that? How could Lord Bolton do such a thing? Lords are meant to help and provide for their small fork, not rape them, Hazel. As it is, Grandfather said it's just a story, a made up roomer. Just like that whole flayed skin room that's apparently hidden in the Dreadfort. It's all just small folk talk and tales. He also said never to speak of that story." Farren glanced once more at the tree, then back to her brother who shrugged looking unconvinced.

* * *

With reaching her homeland, Farren was pleased. Her thoughts of Robb Stark were waning away. Her mother stopped for a visit at their Lord uncles keep. There Hazel exchanged his Bolton banner for a bow from the armory. He had hopes to press the wood for a pheasant or grouse on their return home.

Familiar banners brought a smile to Farren. Over small keeps and beacons, the black rabbit of Frith on white over green swayed in the wind. Her house sigil always a reminder the story her father would tell them as children. The tale of the Lord rabbit and how out of all the other woodland lord's the Lord rabbit had not a single weapon. Wolf had his teeth, hawk his talons, and bear his claws. But rabbit had no defense, he was but prey among his countless foes, living with all the world his enemies. But rabbit was swift, cunning and full of tricks, and due to his gifts, he was never defeated.

Af Farren recalled it was always their grandfather who elaborated the story. He made certain she and her brothers knew how their house came to serve House Bolton. Of how thousand of years ago their ancestor Frith pleased the Bolton King. Frith, son of a lowly turnip farmer, began to have dreams of becoming a rabbit. By these dreams, he realized he was a warg and could enter a rabbit at will. Frith saw a great opportunity in his gift. He went to his grace, the Red King of Bolton with a proposal. Frith offered to share his gift in exchange for lands and a lordship. The Bolton King laughed at Frith, thinking him a fool to enter the mind of a weakling animal of prey. Frith still sought to prove himself to gain the king's favor. He showed the King how a rabbit was the perfect bait to draw a wolf near. Particularly a Stark warg's dire wolf. In the mind of a rabbit, Frith provoked Stark wargs to become relentless in catching a bold, pride snatching rabbit. Frith lured the obsessed wolves onto the Bolton's land, where they were trapped and flayed. In result, Frith had pleased the Bolton King. As gratitude Frith was granted what he desired. He was granted lands, titles and soon a family. When his son inherited his gift, Frith taught him by saying, "Prince of rabbits, be swift, cunning and full of tricks. Know the world shall be your enemy, as Rabbits are, as are we the Lords with thousand enemies. And If they catch us, they will kill us…But first they must catch us." Forward on, for thousands of years, Frith's descendants were forever loyal to the Boltons, the men known to flay their enemies.

The gift passed down Frith's bloodline. Farren knew the god's awarded her brothers the dreams. When Hazel would wake and tell her of becoming a rabbit, she hid her envy. All three of her siblings acquired the gift, but the god's denied Farren. She could never grasp how or why the gods denied her the dreams of her fathers. As if she was born with something missing.

Her grandfather's wood was tranquil. Farren hummed as she rode while her brother remained vigilant with his bow. He had hoped for a fine dinner foul. A bird warbled an evening song as the sun painted the treetops golden orange. The forest fell silent when Farren closed her eyes. She heard only their horses hooves, swishing and crunching an undergrowth of twigs and leaves. The silence left her mind open to undesired thoughts of Robb Stark. He has forgotten you. Farren reminded herself. She opened her eyes with a sigh and glanced at her brother.

"Hazel, do you feel at all bad about spending one night with that girl? You may never see her again and you…took her. What if she's heartbroken now, and you caused it."

Hazel retained focus on the trees, "I told you she was no maiden."

Farren pressed her lips at his lack of sensitivity. She shook off the feeling, "Well, and what if she had been?" Farren asked turning to Hazel. He ignored her. Farren mumbled, she knew Hazel's Hansome features were an easy offer for girls to be taken by him. Being promiscuous left him with little feelings for the girls he'd bedded.

Farren glanced at her brother. She loved him, but his lack of sympathy irritated her. Hazel attracted girls as if he were honey and they were flys. Similar to Robb's refined traits drew her near. Turning her eyes from Hazel Farren hid her flash of grief. To uplift her heart, Farren assured herself Robb and Hazel were nothing alike. Hazel had likely damaged many girls hearts only to satisfy himself. In regard, Farren wondered if he could be the utmost insensitive.

Curiosity won her over and with a tilt of the head, she faced her brother, "Have you ever taken someone's maidenhood?" She asked timidly.

"Only this one farm girl's." Hazel answered, his eyes still attending his hunt, "And um, you know our steal smith's daughter?"

"Hazel!" Farren smiled in shock.

Hazel raised a quick hand, "Shh, I heard something in the leaves. It might be quail. I'm going to have a look." Hazel said, pulling his bow from around him. He gently rode off disappearing into the thick brush.

Farren hoped it was a pheasant. The long ride had given her an appetite and the kitchen cooks were splendid when fixing pheasant. A shout in the wood perked her horses ears. When the sound seconded, Farren looked among the trees, scanning for the source. Light peered between two trees. Shielding her gaze from the orange glare Farren heard a rustle of leaves. Her eyes narrowed, a figure ran like a shadow amidst the wood. The sun's glare shifted, and Farren set eyes on the running figure. Her brow crossed at the sight of a naked girl among the trees. Something was very wrong, Farren paused when the shouting came again.

The voice drew near, mocking a call "Run little bitch, run." The baying of hounds echoed after.

Alarmed Farren clasped her reins. In shock Farren gasped, the naked girl shot out of the brush. She cried out throwing herself before to the forest floor. Kneeling the girl clasped her hands, "Help me. Please, please they're coming." Her voice trembled as tears flowed to her chin. At the sight, Farren's mouth ran dry. She tugged softly on her reins, walking her horse a pace back. Seeing the terror in the naked girl's eyes was staggering. The bizarre image left her disoriented. Ride away, just ride away. Farren panicked.

"Don't move horse girl." Called a female voice.

Farren gaped at her, an archer with a ready bow. Farren shivered seeing she was the aim. Hounds circled them in a barking frenzy. Farren panicked, firmly she held to the reins as the horse reared with a shrill. The animal stamped the ground. The barking ceased when a shout rang out of the brush. With a frantic nature, Farren surveyed around. There were three, a girl, boy and the naked girl below. A violent yank on the reins caused Farren's horse to grunt. The force of muscle left Farren in shock. She shivered, gazing down to meet the boy's lifeless eyes. He stood beneath, so close than his chest brushed her stirrup.

"Hop down from there, or I let them at her," He said, with a gesture to the hounds.

Unknowing what to do Farren gripped her legs to the horse. She studied the boy below. Dark hair revealed his pale eyes, locking to Farren's. The shade matched her own. A mirror reflection only she knew her eyes were nowhere as lifeless.

"Hop down like I said." The boy ordered calmly.

Farren's heart paused in connection with the boys eyes. She held her reins firm, drawing strength of courage. "No," She spoke firmly. "My grandfather is Lord Frith of the Warren. These are his lands. Now you're to let her go."

The laughed amused, "Lord Frith? The Bunny prince?" The dark haired boy heartily grinned as the girl hummed a high pitched giggle.

The boy settled his laugh with a hum, "I believe House Frith is a vassal to House Bolton? Am I right?" He spoke with the knife as one would with their hands, wielding the blade with his words.

Farren's lips locked as he revealed a dagger from his belt. "Frith is a vassal House of Bolton, correct?" His tone suggested no question. Having heard Farren knew the boy knew the answer and now was just toying with her. Anxiety took hold of Farren, as she afforded no answer.

"That means Frith bends to Bolton. Correct."

Farren gripped her reins until her knuckles grew white. The boy twirled his knife, with a wicked grin, "Usually when one person asks a question to another, they expect an answer."

Farren struggled to constrain her fear. "Yes, that's correct."

"Well my lady, as it so happens I am the son of Lord Bolton."

The boy was a liar, he must be, "Lord Bolton had only one son, Domeric, he passed years ago." Farren said, her voice grew faded.

The boy shook his head, "I am his other son." He raised a quick finger. "His only son." He grinned. "So if Frith obeys Bolton, then my lady, I believe you should hop down from that horse like I said."

"No," Farren answered strongly masking her fear. "Just let her go, let her go and leave."

The boy whistled and the hounds assaulted the crying girl, She wailed as teeth ripped her limbs. Crimson rushed down her arms when tugged.

Farren's eyes grew wide, "Stop! Stop!" She cried frantically, "Okay! Okay. okay."

The boy motioned to the hounds. "Down girls."

The girl sobbed as Farren climbed off her horse. The moment her feet touched the forest floor, She stood face to face with the boy and his blade.

"Get on your knees," He ordered. "Go on, like I said."

His voice was disturbing. The boy spoke as one would to a child. She met his gaze then did as told. Farren trembled, her knees greeted the forest below, soaking up wet ground.

The boy eyed her with a twisted smile. "...Rip her girls! Rip her!"

"No, No, No!" Farren cried, cupping a hand to her mouth at the display of horror. Never had she grasped such fear. The hounds were vicious, tearing at the screaming girls limbs, ripping her flesh apart. Farren cried out, he voice mixed in the screams as one hound took off with a hand in its mouth, dropping the flesh at the boy's feet. In seconds, the screaming ceased. Through the circle of hounds, Farren witnessed the center dog locked on the girls neck.

She shook her head. The blood could not be real, none of it was real. Her mouth trembled, her eyes clamped shut as she sobbed.

"There's no need to cry pretty girl." She heard the knife holder above her. "A game will cheer you up. Look at me."

Amidst flowing tears Farren ignored him, lamenting, trying to catch a breath. Farren whimpered, pain filtered her crown. Overhead the boy jerked her hair forcing her compliance. In a desperate effort, she scratched his hands to loosen his grip. Seeing the blade in his hand, She forfeited her struggle. With blank emotion Farren looked up and met his eyes, under raven bangs a pair of colorless orbs. The boy wet his lips with a lick of the tongue.

"Let's you and I play a game together."

Farren winced when the boy tapped her cheek with the spine of his blade. He smiled, "There's one tiny rule, if you bite down, my friend puts an arrow in your eye socket." The boy chuckled, then cleared his throat. "let's begin." He held up a finger, "But first!…I want you to beg me for it."

She knew. "B..Beg you for what?" Farren asked frightened, her voice shook. The boy's hidden manhood lay just before her, under thin fabric only inches away.

"My cock, of course, I thought It would be quite obvious. You'll want me good and ready, and I like a woman who begs." The boy moved intimately close. Farren squinched her eyes, the jerkin of the boy's britches nearly brushed her nose.

Behind the archer lowered her bow and huffed, "But Ramsay you're making me jealous."

"Now, now Myranda," The boy turned and shook a finger. "There's plenty of me to go around. How about I let you make it up to me again later, hmm, sound good."

He grinned as he began slowly undoing the jerkin laces at his groin. Farren shuttered, she looked up, the expression on the boy's face looked as though She had already finished him. The boy was an evil beast and thereby going to enjoy directly abusing her. When his hand met her head, She cringed. Then softly sobbed as the boy Ramsay roughly mussed her hair. His breath hastened, "So go on then pretty girl, start begging for me. I don't like to wait."

Twigs snapped from behind. Farren opened her eyes at the sound. "Let her up. Let her the fuck up! Do as I say right now. My targets your head and I never miss." Hazel's voice called from above.

The boy Ramsay raised his hands, "Umm, take care of him, Myranda, would you? He told the archer.

Hazel swiftly turned his horse, maneuvering just as the loose arrow hit him in the shoulder. His shot to skimmed past Ramsay's head.

Farren saw it hadn't fazed him as her panic turned to a sense of survival. She curled her finger's into a fist, punching the boy hard in the groin. Hammering him hard what lay just below his jerkin. The blow brought the boy to the ground. He tossed hunched over he held his torso, laughing as if deranged.

Farren quickly crawled to her feet as the archer lowered her bow, The archer gasped, "Ramsay!" Her voice shown concern. The girl ran to aid the chuckling boy.

In ultimate dispatch Hazel scooped Farren onto his horse, throwing her behind him.

They rode swiftly. Farren's jumped as a loose arrow soared aside them. "Ride Faster!" She called to Hazel.

Hazel reached over his chest. his hand clenched the arrow his shoulder to snap the shaft. "I can't, I..."

Farren heard Hazel struggle as the horse broke its gate. "Farren, the arrow in my shoulder, snap it far beyond the fletching," Hazel commanded.

Farren closed her eyes, feeling her lip trembled. "Noo." She sobbed burying her face in Hazels back. She could break it, no, not now.

"Farren! break it or I can't ride any faster!" Hazel ordered. "Break it!"

With a shaking hand, Farren gripped the wooden arrow shaft and snapped it clean. Hazel jerked with the break. Farren wrapped her arms tightly around Hazel's body, burying herself in his back as the horse took full speed. She locked her eyes and held her breath. Desperate for refuge, she chanted the words of House Frith. -First you must catch us.


	4. False Apologies

**This chapter preview—**

 **Farren realizes life can be very unfair, Hazel is given an opportunity for revenge. Farren's family are introduced.** **Her mother avoids an undesired situation.**

* * *

"It's going to burn," Farren warned as she tipped a pitcher of boiling wine. The stream ran down Hazel's wound. He winced, "What is that for!?"

"It's to cleanse it," Farren answered she sprinkled a handful of seeds into a mortar and began to grind them.

House Frith kept no maester, as they had no need for one. Considering Farren's great uncle was a studied maester who earned a chain of many links. He refused his mandate to serve under a southern house. Instead, he chose to return home. When stripped of his chain, and annulled as a maester all that survived was his education. Knowledge of healing and ravanry that he'd passed down his family line. Hence of her mother's teaching, Farren had grown into a skilled healer.

She gathered her blend and coated Hazel's gash with a mulled seed.

Hazel wrinkled his nose, "Whats in all hells is that?"

"It's to prevent any infection," Farren said as she dabbed Hazel's arm.

"Can't you just bandage my shoulder and hop over the rest."

"Sorry Hazel, but it need's stitching."

Farren pulled a hooked needle through his wound. The blood on her fingers she thought nothing of, it was but blood. Healing was a fulfillment she could achieve, a type of strength, and it presented her a sense of power. A trait rare for a girl in a world dominated by men. She understood women were meant to be squeamish about blood and shriek when a rat ran from the kitchens, at least, that's what men believed. If her husband killed a rat, he'd probably expect her to swoon on him. That wasn't the husband she wished to have. Farren sighed, her thoughts turned to the last man she'd seen. Rob Stark. The intimate night she spent with him, how it was born of mutual attraction. Farren's attention redirected when Hazel shifted his arm.

"Bolton's bastard is going to suffer when his father learns of this. Farren If I'd of arrived only minutes later he'd of—"

"—I don't wish to speak of it, Hazel." Farren shook her head, "I don't want to remember."

Hazel scowled "That baseborn shit is gonna answer for what he's done."

The creaking chamber door startled Farren when it flung open, pouring in her brother. She smiled when her brother came rushing her for a hug. Wrapping his arms around her was Fiver, a boy of ten with Hazels brown hair and clover eyes. Small elements of life excited and astounded him. He had a naive innocence that Farren found adoring. Much like a boy of summer, he thought only of honor and glory. The notion troubled Farren. She knew such young men have the idea of immortality in combat.

Fiver crawled over Farren for a closer look at Hazel's wound, his eyes grew wide, "What's happened?"

"There was a hunting accident in the wood. A stray arrow hit Hazel." Farren lied as she worked with the bandage.

"Does it hurt bad?" Fiver asked inspecting closely.

Hazel smiled, "No Fiver it feels quite fine."

Looking up, Farren noticed her much quieter brother had joined them. With raven hair and dark blue eyes, Verek resembled her mother. He was no more a year younger than Hazel. Hazel treated him as a boy, as the teasing older brother. Verek never refused to pester Hazel in return. Farren hated how the two tormented one another, often their badgering and beckoning turned violent. Behind the temper Hazel brought out in him, Farren knew Verek to be charming. He was quite talented and strived to become a masterly painter, which he'd accomplish well for his age. Their mother allowed him to keep a mural on her solar chamber wall. A scene depicting a lush live forest surrounding a stag and running hounds. Farren imagined her brother's skill being fine enough for the walls of the red keep itself. Sadly their grandfather rejected her brother's passion. The man would allow Verek only an hour a week to practice his painting, thinking Verek's whim a misuse of time for a boy who was to be a soldier.

He looked at Hazel's arm concerned, then took a seat across from him, "Did you see who shot you?"

Farren had met Hazel's gaze before his eyes shifted to their brother, "No, Probably some careless hunter." Hazel said.

Hearing there was no real excitement to the story Verek sunk lazily in his chair. "Well Hazel, how do you know it was an accident?… Maybe they meant to hit you. Perhaps it was some whore you forgot to pay." He taunted with a smirk. Farren jumped, a screech sounded when Hazel's boot shoved his brother's chair.

Farren smiled when Fiver glanced at her, "Farren what are whores?" He asked over Verek's laughter.

Farren scowled at Verek who opened his mouth again, "Well Fiver, from what I've heard, a whore is a girl who's always cold."

Raising a brow, Farren looked at Verek baffled. For the moment, she held the urge to go slap him.

Verek smiled, "So when in need a girl can call any boy and he'll pretend to be a blanket for her. Hazel's always going off to rescue cold girls acting as a blanket to them. He's a hero in a sense, probably deserves a knighthood, perhaps if we tell grandfa—"

With a firm grip, Hazel tugged Verek's wrist, turning it to reveal the colorful stains on his hands and fingers. Hazel angerly glared, "Perhaps we tell grandfather you've been painting the whole time he's been away."

"It's true, he has." Fiver admitted, tumbling backward on the bed, "He's added a rabbit to mother's wall," Fiver held his feet as he rocked, "But Hazel you shouldn't tell as a turn cloak, or Verek'll get punished."

"Fiver no one's telling anyone anything. Their just quarreling." Farren said with a sigh. She looked up, a shout rang from the window, a Sentinel ordering the gates open.

"The gates!" Fiver yipped and ran to the window.

"Don't hang so far out!" Farren yelled watchful of him.

"It's mother! Mother's just rode in!" He shouted and scurried out the door.

Verek leaned over to his elder brother. "Hazel, your wound looks as if it hurts terrible, I'm sorry for what I said earlier, and for this— " "Ahz" Hazel hissed, Verek's fist met his bandaged wound, he then snickered as he left. Heated, Hazel spat a curse at him, once alone he then turned to Farren with his voice a whisper. "Father's still in Winterfell, I'll send a raven telling him everything, he'll go to grandfather, and then they'll go to Lord Bolton."

Sound's of jeers turned Farren to the window, her brothers happily greeting their mother below.

"We shouldn't tell her." Farren cooed, "It would only cause her to worry." She looked to her brother who nodded.

With no desire to speak of the horrors of the wood, keeping a word from her mother was easily done. Time alone with her siblings and mother she needed. Though still She Remained tormented by Lord Bolton's Bastard and the image he fired in mind. Hazel sent the raven just as he declared through the Lord's of the Warren returned ahead of a response.

With no desire to speak of the horrors of the wood, keeping a word from her mother was easily done. Time alone with her siblings and mother she needed. Though still She Remained tormented by Lord Bolton's Bastard and the image he fired in mind. Hazel sent the raven just as he declared through the Lord's of the Warren returned ahead of a response.

* * *

Uncertainty churned Farren's mind when her father and grandfather rode through the gate. The matter of discussion she sought to bypass could no longer be. Amidst the black rabbit banners atop hearty black stallion sat a true Northman with features cold as the land that bore him. Lord Blackaver Frith of the Warren, Prince of Rabbits and Lord of a thousand enemies. Though Farren knew his eyes to be green, they looked dark as a mask. The man wore no smile, His face clean shaven, as Farren hadn't seen a day otherwise. At his shoulders black, fur clasped by white rabbits, worn over a long black cloak that draped his mount. He retained his status firmly, sharing in control of their large army. Farren thought him to be a sole strong tempered man, often cruel, well suited for his role in Bolton's regiment. There were times Farren thought him cruel, and times she even hated him. The man had a horrid temper that never denied her three brother's a stiff hand. He acted as a father to them and fit the age. His first son came a year shy of his fourteenth name day. Age saw him in his prime, only taking its toll on graying his hair.

The man at his side agreed with Farren's kind expression. Her Father smiled at her as he stepped down from his amber steed. Selven Frith became known as Ven. The third born son to Lord Blackaver, Ven was not born heir to the Warren. With two elder brother's deaths in the rebellion. Farren never met her late uncles, but wondered if they shared her grandfather's temperament or his opposite, her fathers. Farren believed her father resembled an older version of Hazel, sound and strong shouldered, with an even featured face and green eyes that gave him a handsome look. His hair differed from Hazel's only by being a light graying brown, and his light facial hair kept to a graze. His emerald eyes made Farren smile. She loved him, recognizing her father to be a man of real honor, kind and caring. Nevertheless, his birth destined him to be the son of a man his opposite.

"Are you okay my Blackberry?" He murmured to the top of her head. He had called such since before she had memory. A term of endearment for the sake of her dark hair. "Yes," Farren nodded pressing close to his chest.

Hazel spared no time to inquire what actions would be taken in regard Lord Bolton's Bastard. "Did you receive our raven?" He urged as the older man unmounted his horse.

The man ignored him to turn to the groom, "Clean the horses. Clear the mud from their hooves."

"Grandfather did you-"

"They have not been fed, supply them fresh hay. Fresh, boy."

"Grandfather di-"

The man turned with a snap, "What? Hazel."

"Did you receive our raven?"

"Yes." Lord Blackaver answered shortly.

"And?" Hazel asked as the man passed.

"Lord Bolton mentioned your run in with his bastard. How the boy was out hunting, and there was an accident, which the boy missed his target, and you took a stray arrow."

Hazel jerked to a halt, his eyes spread bewildered. "What?!"

He's lying. The Bastard lied, Farren held her tongue in distraught unbelief.

"That isn't what happened," Hazel replied quickly. "There was no stray arrow. It was no accident. It is a lie. Grandfather, they are lying to you!"

"Who's lying to me?" Blackaver approached Hazel with a raw tone "Is Lord Bolton lying to me?" He gnarled, seeming annoyed by the pressed conversation.

Hazel exhaled frustration, "No, his Bastard son! He's lying! That Bastard probably lied to his father who believed him. You must go to Lord Bolton with the truth."

"Lord Bolton has already given me the truth. Am I to debate him?" Blackaver furiously offered with a squinted glare.

"Yes, Grandfather you need to. Lord Bolton's bastard can't get away with what he tried to do to Farren, or what he did to that other young girl, Grandfather she's dead because of him."

Blackaver sighed angerly, "I know nothing of all that."

"My letter told you the truth. You have to go to Lord Bolton and argue the fact."

The Lord turned to Hazel with a dark scowl littered with a warning, "You expect me to argue our liege lord boy?"

"If it earns that dead girl justice, then yes," Hazel answered firmly.

"Lord Bolton said his bastard was unaware you were in hunting range. Otherwise the boy would have taken caution. You'd be pleased Lord Bolton also encouraged that the boy affords you two a formal apology. Which he'll do when we feast them tomorrow evening."

Hazel shook his head, His mouth fell ajar with a smile of unbelief, "That bastard tries to defile Farren, and you have him for a feast?"

Hazel paced backward when The Lord faced him with dominant posture, looming with an icy stare, "Lord Bolton has spoken his word. I will not hear another sound of contradiction." The man sucked his teeth angerly, "Understood?"

His words demanded response. Hazel looked as to go mad with frustration, His mouth clamped affording a huff for a reply.

Farren gazed at her brother. She felt her father's chest vibrate a charge, "Hazel." His tone an urge for his son to answer the man.

Hazels brow crossed, frustrated and reluctant. He gritted his teeth and looked away with a nod of acceptance. He stormed away bitter, with fire in his eyes. Having seen the flames, Farren started after him.

"Leave him, Farren," Her grandfather called coldly. "Let him brood over his cut as a child."

Her eyes cast sorrow. With little hope, Farren reverted to her sire's warm embrace. "There was more to the story Father. It was much worse." She cooed as her father stroked her hair.

"I'm sure there was more, but sadly now it matters not." He kissed her on the head. "I'm just thankful the two of you are okay."

* * *

The sun began a slow decent when the servants prepared the feast. In the bustle Farren's family prepared for his liege lord's arrival. As always Farren watched her grandfather examine her brother's appearances, forever having to perfect them. The Lord moved down the line of three his three grandsons, running his fingers through Fivers hair in the effort to better the look, sweeping off the furs at Verek's shoulders. At the line's end, he scowled. Skipping Hazel, who wore an exceedingly agitated look on his face. To Farren Hazel resembled a wild beast kept behind bars, raging in anger, knowing its liberation was impossible.

Lord Blackaver scanned the great hall then faced his son. "Ven, where is your wife?"

A servant girl stopped her hustle, turning timidly, "Ex, Excuse me, M'lord, but Lady Holly has bolted her chamber door. She refuses anyone to enter."

Turning her gaze, Faren saw her grandsires expression snap from cold to hot tempered. He gritted his teeth as he shifted his stare to pierce his son, "Seven, as her lord husband you go order that women out of that room."

Ven pressed his lips with a sad sigh, and he nodded. Melancholy drowned Farren as she watched her father leave. He hadn't returned soon enough for her patients not to thin. Feeling concern, she slipped up to her mothers solar. Her father just outside her mother's chamber. He whispered to the door with his head bowed. "Holly, please, please don't do this." Farren listened as he begged the wooden door. "Holly, I understand. But you mustn't yield to your feelings. Show him you've buried the harm."

"Father, will she not come out?" Farren asked as she reached the corridors end. A look of sorrow filled her father's eyes as he shook his head, "no."

Farren heard soft sailing footsteps around the corner and Fiver dashing down the hall, "Father, Lord Bolton's nearing the gate, he's just came from the river's banks." Fiver called, his voice carried excitement to match his grin. "I saw the flayed man banners from the window tower."

"Fiver tell your grandfather, go on, quickly." Ven said, and his son took off running.

Farren smiled softly, her father lay a gentle hand on her arm, "Blackberry join your brothers in the courtyard okay. Tell your grandfather I'll be down before they open the gates."

"Yes, Father." Farren nodded hesitantly not wishing to go. Her mind fixed upon her mother. With an exhale, she glanced over her shoulder. Now resting his head against the door, her father looked pain stricken.

Her family in the lack of her mother stood filed in the courtyard, prepared to greet their liege lord as usual. As he stated, Ven joined side just before the opening of the gates.

"Where is she Ven?" Blackaver growled when his son arrived solely. "She won't open the door," He whispered. When Blackaver eyed him,

Farren heard her father swallow. "Do you expect me to break it down?"

It was far from a warm, welcoming party. Beside her, Farren could sense Hazel's anger, picturing him attacking the Bastard at first sight. She glanced beyond him. Verek already showed boredom as usual, careless for the feast or their lord's company. Fiver, however, looked ready to leap about with his ecstatic grin. Farren smiled, Her youngest thought their liege lord was a kind king figure, one of which his family had the honor of feasting. His small green eyes grew wide with mirth when the flayed man banners came riding through the gates. Farren pressed away her grin when Fiver stared in awe at their Lord, Roose Bolton.

A Northman as true as her grandfather Faren watched the Lord demount with grace. Farren knew Lord Bolton to be a detached sort of man. Perhaps he believed to show emotion was a weakness, and so he worked to avoid it, or maybe lifelessness was simply his nature. He met them lazily. Farren thought Roose Bolton often had a smug aura, sometimes it shown in the twinge of his lips or his carefree stroll.

Blackaver nodded, "Lord Bolton, Welcome."

The Lord hummed, "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Frith," He muttered. Following the cold exchange, Farren saw the Lord scan them for a second. "My lords, my lady."

Farren pleasantly dipped, she met the lord's gaze with a soft smile, one that was not returned. But it was expected, Lord Bolton's face was always pale and inert. Farren had never seen him genuinely smile. She wondered if he had teeth. The ridiculous notion slipped from her mind, quickly replaced with anger. The moment Ramsay Snow was inside the Warren gates Farren wanted him out. Jumping down from his mound his boots hit the mud with a good squish. Farren dipped her head to hide a scowl. Before them stood the demon Bastard from the wood, with the same sinister grin and dead eyes. Farren saw him as the embodiment of every wrong, a violent murderer, and a privileged liar.

With a lazy hand, Lord Bolton gestured to the boy, "My bastard Ramsay Snow."

Ramsay grinned widely "It's a pleasure, my lords. A delight, my lady."

An unsettled fear came over Farren. Ramsay had her recall the wood. His voice called clearly in her mind. _Pretty girl, I haven't forgotten what you owe me._

Among the black rabbit of Frith, the great hall wore Bolton banners for the evening. The flayed man mingled with the rabbit placed a distaste in Farren's mouth. Although most of the company was undesired, Farren figured it no reason not take pleasure in the feast. Unlike Hazel, who half bent his fork and ate nothing out of anger, Farren would not have Ramsay's presence spoil her comfort.

The kitchen prepared a beautiful feast of chive potatoes, glazed carrots and onions, warm bread and ripe redcurrant jam. As the tables essence, a large roast grouse coated with a bread gravy and thyme. Lord Bolton ate like a small bird. Farren wondered when the man refused her grandfather's finest vintage. The Lord's bastard ate and drank as if he sat at his last meal. Farren watched him with daggers for eyes. The great hall took to a quiet atmosphere given the reason for the feast remained unaddressed. Ramsay had yet to utter a word of remorse regarding his false crime.

Conversation well lacked until Lord Bolton turned to Ven, "Will your lady wife not be joining us?"

Ven smiled wearily, "I'm afraid not my lord, she is not well this evening."

"Well then, afford her my regards Ven." Lord Bolton lips grew as he hummed.

Ven looked at him with a weakly pressed smile and a nod. It was odd in a sense. Farren saw her Father's expression became lost once he turned his head.

As the meal carried on the sound of the great hall endured its quiet air, only two cold voices conversed as Lord Bolton and Blackaver held a discussion. They spoke of small matters such as taxing of small folk, and refurbishing roads. Every so often the asked Ven's opinion. Gazing upon her brothers, Farren sighed. Hazel fumed in anger, sparks lingering in his eyes. Verek looked to die of boredom and Fiver gleefully gaped at Lord Bolton, thinking him a sort of majesty. Ramsay stared solely at Farren, his unavoidable eyes calling to her.

 _Pretty girl, let's finish our little game._

Lord Bolton's eyes shifted to his bastard, and the man sighed, "Well must not forget the reason we have joined tonight. Ramsay."

Ramsay stood with his hands clasped."Yes, we mustn't forget father." The Bastard said, with a false sounding obedient. He grinned, "Hazel, my lord, Farren, my lady, I acted rather foolish in the wood. I should have practiced caution while pursuing my stag. You have my sincere apologies. If you're willing to accept of corse." The hall fell dead silent. Farren eyed the company, then her father and last Ramsay, standing humbled with his fake wicked grin.

Farren glanced down to hide a smirk, _Bastard, you're not the only one who knows how to pretend._ She purposely planted a sweet smile upon her lips.

"I accept my Lord," She said with a sugary tone and Ramsay's mouth twitched in surprise, clearly taken aback. Holding her false profile Farren surveyed the others, both Roose and Blackaver had a charmed looks on their faces. Farren knew the reason was quick compliance. They were satisfied with her being docile and submissive.

 _Just as a woman should be._ She thought reluctantly withholding a sigh. A bitter taste hit her tongue. Though she felt pleased seeing Her father Ven smile lightly.

Looking recollected, Ramsay turned his gaze on Hazel, "And you my lord, will you accept my apology?"

Hazel's emerald eyes blazed, his body tensed with his rage. Farren heard his heavy breathing to keep composure. Looking as though he was resisting the urge to climb on the table and dig the bastards eyes out with a fork. Farren pictured Hazel as a ram, one ready to clash its horns with a foe, but the enemy only wore a smile on his lips. Farren noticed Lord Bolton's face remained completely expressionless, as he had no care either way.

Her grandfather's expression that showed anger regarding his grandson's delay. "Hazel." He growled softly, his tone a warning, contending for compliance. Another long minute passed keeping the silent hall."Hazel" Blackaver snarled, the sound was dangerously ominous.

Unter the table Farren brushed hazel's wrist. She closed her eyes. _Just say it_ she though and Hazel's face twitched, He nearly shook as he gnarled exceedingly low.. "I accept your apologie." His voice carried threw his gritting of teeth.

Roose Bolton sighed, "Very good then, no animosity." He relieved softly.

He smiled but different than most men. Farren looked at him in thought, her eyes changed to shock when the he matched her gaze. It was so very odd, His eyes were much like her own, almost a reflection, their shade pale as ice. The same strange smile graced his face, "Your grandfather mentioned it was you that mended your brother's injury, It may seem you're a talented girl."

The statement caught her without guard, "Um, Thank you, my lord." She answered softly. Him talking to her she'd not expected, but if he desired conversation than she saw fit not to deny him. "I've always taken care of my brothers. my mother taught me." She said, her voice kind and true. Farren couldn't blame her liege for his son's lies. She knew the Lord was surely ignorant of the truth. She smiled at him, his lips twinged in reaction. With apprehension Farren toyed with her fork, "I rather enjoy giving care to people in need of it. So much so I hope to act as a healer when I'm older, perhaps even travel as one, helping people." She admitted a subject she never discussed.

 _Did I just say that?_ Farren thought surprising herself. For unknown reasons, it was if Lord Bolton easy to talk to. The man only ever spoke few words to her. It seemed enjoyable to have a one-sided Conversation, that is with someone other than herself. She was stunned when he answered.

"That's quite admirable." He nodded.

Farren thought it sounded much like a statement, rather than a compliment. Blackaver seemed quite pleased. "You should think yourself lucky my Lord," he addressed,"You never had to suffer a daughter. All they talk of is simple girlish nonsense. Farren knows healing should remain as an affair left to masters and servant girls. Not noble young ladies."

Hearing the contradiction Farren exhaled, Huaa _, Grandfather, I already knew your backward beliefs._

Blackaver ignored her look of discontent. "Once we settle on a match for her, Farren will stop with her maiden whims and teach them to be foolish thoughts. Once married she'll do as any good women and labor to give your lord husband a good deal of sons." He said pleased with the fact. "Farren, then that caring nature of your's will truly prove useful."

She held concealed a scowl with a false smile, despising her grandfather's notion of a women's status in society, intolerant to thinking anything otherwise. A women's sole task in life was to marry a husband and bear him as many children as she could conceive, preferably sons. A false smile owned Farren's expression, _Why of corse grandfather, what else am I good for, how I'd love to be finally useful in my life._ Sarcasm filled her mind.

Ramsay looked up from his stocked plate and smiled, "I'm certain Farren will provide an abundance of sons to whomever she weds." He announced in a sheer fake voice.

Blackaver smiled. "One can only hope so."

"Oh, I can tell." Ramsay declared with a nod, "Women with such tender hearts must be exceedingly fertile. And Farren's graceful features seem to ensure she'll be a woman of good breeding. Whoever you choose to wed your granddaughter would be a very lucky man to be sure. To have such a lovely maiden carry his seed."

 _Uahh. Gross._ Farren thought it offensive when Westerosi men referred to unmade children as their seed, like it was to be planted in women, always filled with hopes it settled and grew into a son. As if she were a plant.

"If I could be so bold, my lord," Ramsay continued happily, "Just by looking at Farren It's plain to see your granddaughter was apparently blessed. Such fruitful breasts and birthing hips perfect for bearing sons."

 _What!?_ Farren nearly gritted her teeth in disgust. Vomit touched her tongue. Ramsay was surveying her body and lying of what he saw. Farren knew herself to have only medium breasts, and hips so small they were practically that of a boy of twelve's. She desperately wanted to crawl across the table and choke the bastard with her napkin.

"Are these not the most desired traits in young women?" Ramsay said, smiling at Blackaver.

"That and obedient temperament," The man said, eyeing Ven.

"Well, with all that being said," Ramsay smiled, "Do you know, is she still pure? Her many gifts would be wasted if she had already broken her maiden's blood."

The hall silenced neglecting sound, save the crackling hearth and a tension came over the table.

Lord Bolton glared at his Bastard with unblinking eyes, "Ramsay if you are to hold a conversation, it will remain appropriate."

"Forgive me, father." Ramsay said with a small grin. He cleared his throat "We'll if ever given the honor I would marry her either way."

Hasel sniffed, "Our name is noble." He said, his voice now cold and firm "Farren is noble, why would a noble girl marry a Snow?" He scoffed, and Farren glanced around, to her surprise lord Bolton nodded in agreement.

"I won't be a Snow forever," Ramsay said sounding rather annoyed. "Will I father?"

"I really couldn't say." Roose Bolton tilted his head, "You've yet to prove yourself as anything otherwise."

Farren smiled, She thought he sounded snooty. She nearly laughed when the corners of Hazel's mouth formed a large smug grin. Ramsay took notice and forced his smirk's return, his teeth soon showing.

"Perhaps you would care to join me on a hunt some day, Hazel." Ramsay asked friendly yet false.

Hazel worked hard to hide his temper. "I don't favor hunting."

"Then maybe a polite contest, surely you enjoy sparring?"

Lord Blackaver nodded in agreement, "We are near finished, the sun remains. A nice suggestion, is it not Hazel." The man insisted.

Hazel smiled, locked in the Bastard's gaze, "Sounds agreeable."

* * *

Farren's nerves stirred when the two outfitted with mail under their attire. The dinner party gathered in the sparring yard, several of the castle's occupants appeared to view the civil competition. The Warren's weapon's master presented Hazel his favored choice, a great sword he had named White Tail. Forged at the Dreadfort as a Bolton steel, Farren understood it to be very sharp.

Tapping his lips in decision Ramsay surveyed the weapons brought from the armory. He smiled, lifting up wide single sided battle ax. It had a rugged look that suited him well.

Farren stood amongst Lord Bolton, her sires, and brothers. The anticipated engagement attracted more eyes still. Servants and sentries neglected their tasks for a view of their Lord's eldest grandson challenge the bastard of their sovereign liege.

Eagerly, Hazel and Ramsay circled one another, their eyes steadfast connected. Hazel's rigid contrasted with Ramsay's wildly grin. Farren thought they'd circle forever until Ramsay stole the first lunge, his ax accepted Hazel's sword with a loud pang. The yard permeated with the clanging of metal, Hazel's blade shearing the edge of the ax.

Hazel moved swiftly with loose dexterity, his motions agile and well learned. Always on point, his changes and form Farren knew to be perfect, with a sword in hand Hazel was without flaw. Lord Blakaver would tolerate no less. His smooth movements opposed Ramsay's style of warfare. The bastard boy was clearly untaught, ignorant of proper education. Ramsay had not lived at the Dreadfort all his life, his profit of noble living was quite green. Farren very much doubted Ramsay's mother's mill had an armory. The thought caused her to smirk.

Although he lacked all grace, Ramsay's chopping and hacking possessed a power. Fierce as one of his hounds, Ramsay had a healthy range of strength. His grinning expression seemed like a shroud for his sincerity.

Farren gasped when Hazel's blade made contact with Ramsay's chest, slashing his jerkin. A long slit opened the leather and revealed the mail underneath. A quick strike and a crossed grip earned Hazel a second blow, his sword restyled Ramsay's attire.

Farren cheered silently fighting the urge to clap. Not certain if applause would be deemed inappropriate. Her eyes widened when Ramsay's grin transformed into a dark scowl, the slices on his chest putting it there. The color in his knuckles drained when He tighten his grip on the ax. In rage Ramsay flipped the shaft to a back angle. With the ax's blunt spine and began to beat hazel's shield, pounding down. The force had Hazel's arm give way. Ramsay eyed his target with a hunger, by the ax shaft-sided he bashed at Hazel's shoulder, hammering the tender wound he knew was there.

Hazel grunted in pain. When his eyes fastened Ramsay seized the vulnerability. The ax he ran upright, hitting Hazel's mouth and nose a blow with a crimson end. Hazel staggered back with a hand on his chin, a stream of red rolled down his lips. Backhanded he wiped the crimson from his nose's bridge. His gaze fell, fixed upon the blood coating his fingers.

Farren glimpsed the wildfire build in her brother's eyes. He attacked Ramsay with like a storm, blade clanging with the bastard's ax. With an upward blow, Hazel's sword locked tightly under its foe weapon. The two kept tight in a battle of strength. Ramsey's ax driving down and Hazel's blade up in return.

Gaze locked, Farren held her breath. She realized the two young men showed an even match of strength. Their weapons kept locked, held unwaveringly. But she knew her brother, and he was far from himself. Farren never saw such fury in her brother's green eyes. The grew so ominous as to overthrow his competitors. That wrath gave Hazel the advantage. He sent the ax flying from Ramsay's hands. It sailed with the sound of a fife, spinning far across the combat yard to land in the mud.

Hazel afforded the bastard no choice of yield. He threw his sword to the ground and his shoulders met the bastard's torso bringing him to the ground. With lingering rage Hazel pinned the bastard below him. A swipe to the face was no daunting to Hazel. Farren cupped a hand to her mouth when her brother brought his fist down on Ramsay's face. With sheer violence, Hazel struck the bastard repeatedly with a strong fist. Voices rang out in the yard, as Hazel beat Ramsay in the face. The blood was shocking, Farren watched wide eyed as her father tore Hazel off the Bolton bastard.

Left in disbelief, Farren heard the same hysterical laughter from that day in the wood, Ramsay found the ordeal hilarious. When he sat up, his mouth was drenched in blood. A river flowed thickly over his chin, streaming to neck.

Fear gripped Farren tightly when her grandfather's temper liberated. Hazel stood still catching his breath when suddenly jerked to the side. Farren trembled, her grandfather savagely clenched her brother's collar and slung him across the courtyard. "Damn wildling of a boy, Curse you, Hazel, not fit to bear my name!" Blackaver Frith growled as Hazel staggered for balance, wiping his nose on his sleeve. The Lord's words were far tamer than typical, given the company present.

Closing her eyes on the situation, Farren whispered a prayer. She knew Her brother would not be rewarded for his actions. Hazel's act was dishonorable and a show of bad form in what was meant to be a well mannered contest. Of corse Hazel was aware of the reproach, but in the moment, rage overwhelmed his judgment.

Ramsay stood up weary, still grinning with his made for mad features. "Hazel!" He called with a friendly tone, "I believe it's your turn to apologize to me." He held out his hands in wait, "Yes?"

Blackavor stood firm, "Hazel restore a shred of your dignity and admit your fault to him." He ordered.

Ramsay smiled, "I'll gladly accept Hazel your apologie, all you need to do is ask." He said falsely civil.

Being mocked brought Hazel spit on the ground, he faced Ramsay with a dominate loom, "You bastard piece of shit, I'd rather be whipped bloody."

It was a dangerous remark, one too easily twisted into a request. Farren closed her eyes. Her grandfather grabbed her brother by the neckband, "Allow me to oblige you." The man growled in regard.

Farren knew her grandfather to make no threats, he was a man of actions. She feared for her brother, pulling Fiver close for comfort. She noticed her father close his eyes and keep them shut. He stood as if his spirit had flown away. The sight of her father put tears in her eyes. He was her grandfather opposite in all but appearance. Hazel's actions undoubtedly upset him, but he held no cruel ways. His nature did not matter, no more than his opinion. Blackwater was Lord of the Warren. Always. And so he would remain. Lord Blackaver was less than fifteen years his heirs senior. The two were closer to a brother's age than father and son. Farren knew she and her brothers could have very well been their grandfather's children in times regard. Blackaver knew just the same.

To the nearest sentry, Blackaver aimed "Fetch me a lash!" He spat.

Hazel's mouth hung in terror, his eyes shown shock. Farren's heart stopped when she saw the panic on her brother's face. Servents returned to their tasks in haste. Farren saw the faces of those still watching som troubled some shocked. Hazel had never been flogged. Farren knew her grandfather was a man with a for hard discipline. He showed her brothers his sword's strap often. Though never had he used a lash upon them, let alone for whoever eyes to take in. Hazel was heir to the Warren following their father. The notion of the punishment was inconceivable. But Hazel's offense was great, Farren knew their grandfather gave the order was to please their liege. The fact was evident to all the Warren. Ramsay's body shook as he laughed. He fell silent when he met his father's gaze. Lord Bolton said nothing, his features withheld expression.

With Hazel dazed in his grip, Blackaver turned to Roose Bolton, "My lord, name a number that suits his offense, I'll have him punished immediately." With a firm hand, he lowered Hazel to kneel before Lord Bolton. "He is at your mercy," He said gravely.

Hazel closed his eyes, and Farren saw him lightly tremble. She noticed his mouth twitch as if the pain already presented itself. He then hung his head, shielding his expression. Lord Bolton looked down careless and aloof, His pale eyes examining Hazel in submission, just inches from his boots. Farren knew the Lord of the Dreadfort, like her grandfather, was surely no man of mercy. She held Fiver tight to her waist as he buried his face in her skirts, frightened just as well.

Lord Bolton tilted his head. His gaze met his grinning son before returning to Hazel below. He took a good breath then turned to Blackaver lazily, "Mm, I see no need to have him punished as He's caused me no offense. Ramsay is only my Bastard, had he been my real son, perhaps my view may have differed."

Farren took sheer pleasure from the sour look on Ramsay's face. It lasted the remainder of the night, up until he and his father mounted their horses. Ramsay's obvious disappointment filled Farren's mind with different opinions. It was pleasing seeing him pout. His father had insulted him, and for all to hear. But also, the knowledge that Ramsay could possess a feeling other than his overjoyed madness gave her a kind of odd solace. The monster was human after all.

As they bid, their farewells Farren grew dauntless with having witnessed the bastard's defeat. She held her head high and boldly stepped beside his mount. She grazed her fingers across his steed and glanced above. The bastard scowled at her. As he kicked his horse, a superior smile raised Farren's lips in pleasantry. "Have a pleasant journey back to the Dreadfort, Ramsay Snow. "

* * *

Please let me know any thoughts or comments. Any little bit would be lovely! :D Thanks for reading.

 **Next chapter preview- Farren confronts her mother. She begins a journey west when receiving news.**


	5. A Journey West

**This Chapter Preview-**

 **Farren seeks the answers to many questions. Her families loyalty to the Boltons she learns could never be broken. She and her mother start on a journey that will take them right past Winterfell.**

*This chapter has not had complete grammar revisions. The work is in a the process. Please excuse misspelled words and use. Thank you for your understanding.

* * *

When her mother unlatched the chamber door Farren was waiting on the other side. She slipped in the room closing the door to silence her grandfather's angry bellowing. In the low lit room her mother sat before the glow of the hearth, working on restringing a cherry vielle fiddle. The woman's thick black hair looked a shade brown under the fire light. Farren's mother Holly was the most stunning a woman could be, with a heart shaped face and flawless skin, she looked many years less her age, her beauty confirmed by all. Farren noted how men would turn their heads to watch her mother pass, or gaze at her if she were the only women in Westeros. Farren knew her mother strived a lifetime to ignore those men. Her father would of been forced to fight off countless contenders for Holly's love, but Holly chose him first. Farren knew her mother was beautiful, but than so did the world, men in particular of corse.

She joined her mother's side, the women's eyes remained fixed on stringing her instrument. The chamber door merely suppressed a large crashing sound followed by more angry shouts."I suppose thats my doing." Holly asked still gazing down as she worked.

"Actually I think its mainly Hazel's. He may have broke lord Bolton's son's nose, twice over."

"Did the boy deserve it?" Holly asked, plucking the strings for the right pitches.

"Yes. He deserved more actually." _A lot more._

Farren watched her mother continue stringing and tuning, turning the pegs to achieve proper hums. Farren herself was gifted in the fiddle by reason of her mother's talent and the women's love of the instrument. The room herd only the sound of the offset "Din, din, crick" of the strings and crackling hearth, a silence which Farren sought to change.

"That rabbit is new," Farren said viewing the painted mural. "Verek did a fine job on it, it fits in well."

Holly gazed over to the newly painted rabbit. "No wonder Verek hadn't wished to join our journey to Winterfell. That rabbit was pleasing to come home to. His talent never fails to impress." Holly said than pointed to the mural's corner. "That patch of violets there is new also."

"Mother, I know you allow Verek to sneak in here a paint after dark." Farren admitted. She'd seen her brother creeping the halls before slipping in their mother's solar, the following day something new would appear in the mural.

"He knows to stay quiet and careful about it." Holly said, still viewing the rabbit. Farren thought the rabbit looked to be moving as the hearth light danced on the wall, the orange glow traveling over the finally painted fur, mixing its shadows and hues. She knew her brother had an undying love for painting, It was a passion he couldn't surrender, even if forbidden. Their grandfather had whipped Verek when having caught him disobeying his mandate. Farren recalled the situation and her mother's furry with her father by law. Despite knowing the paying price of defiance, Verek still continued his landscape. Verek's way of avoiding being caught by their grandfather became clever and amusing, remembering the time she sat reading a book in the solar as her brother painted. When hearing the guards announcing riders coming in Verek would cease his work, hastily scrub his hands and fingers free of stains, then climb threw the solars window. With a jaunt around the ledge, he'd dip down to continue around the ramparts, till eventually reaching a wood roofing where he lowered himself into the contending yard. There he'd take up a weapon and act as if he'd been practicing all day. Farren knew their weapons master disapproved, but it was her mother who ensured the man's silence threw a kind heart and an annual pouch of silver stag coins.

Farren viewed the entire solar wall, the mural had grown extensively over the past year. "Do you ever worry that grandfather may see this?" She asked.

"He has no business here." Her mother said coldly.

Farren looked her mother over, she couldn't believe the women was ill when earlier she was perfectly fine and lively. Only when hearing the lord of the Dreadfort would be joining them did she suddenly fall ill. Farren thought it odd, but it wasn't the first time her mother avoided the lord's company. At Winterfall for the Bolton commendation ceremony her mother chose to spend the evening in her pavilion other than join the great feast. The woman's dislike and avoidance of lord Bolton became known to Farren, curious and concerned she wished to know the reason.

"Mother," Farren questioned softly, "Why did you not come to dinner?"

"I wasn't felling well." Holly said plainly in her kind voice.

"You're felling better now." Farren pointed out. "…Why do you have such a dislike for lord Bolton?" Farren asked boldly to the point, wishing for the answer, wondering why.

"I have no feelings for lord Bolton," Her mother said simply, "I don't know the man well enough to like or dislike him."

"But, still you dislike him." Farren said rejoining her mother's side.

"You know, I had to fight your grandfather to allow Verek an hour a week to paint. It makes me wish to cry sometimes, his talent going to such waste."

Farren sighed softly, her mother would admittedly change any subject she wished to avoid.

"What was the real reason you didn't come to dinner?" Farren asked again.

Holly laid down her fiddle and retrieved a parchment from the corner writing desk. "My dear cousin's daughter has fallen ill with fever, the letter arrived this morning. I'm planning on ridding to Cerwyn lands to help care for her. You should to join me Farren."

* * *

It was an easy decision, being without her mother at the Warren became often lonely. Her brother's were to practice with their weapons, which lasted most of the day and her father and grandfather would come and go on business, leaving Farren alone with her books and stitching. Riding alongside her mother they followed the weeping water with an escort of Frith banners. Starting west with their destination being the lands ruled under House Cerwyn. The time away Farren needed to free her mind of Ramsay and that poor helpless girl. She also felt an excitement knowing Castle Cerwyn was less then half a day's ride to Winterfell.

 _Winterfell._ The the great northern keep made her think of Robb Stark and their night in the god's wood. The memory faded from a sweet thought when she realized how long it's been since the Bolton commendation, and that unspoken night. Robb surly must of forgotten her by now, but she couldn't forget what still lingered vivid in her mind. The softness of his kiss at her neck, his gentle touch followed by a gripping of her waist. How he pulled her into his lap because he wanted her, but off again because Hazel said he respected her. How could she forget his look, his hansom features held so close to her own body.

Farren's thoughts of Robb and Winterfell faded as they passed the small folk mill along the weeping water. The old mill that sat beside an old twisted black tree. The tree from the story, the tree under which Ramsay's mother was raped by his father. It made sense for Ramsay to be born of nothing less than an act of violence. The bastard became the manifestation of evil threw which he was conceived. Could it be a true tale, or just a story told by small folk as her grandfather insisted. Her mother also eyed the tree, Farren saw a scowl on her face and a sadness in her eyes.

"Mother, that story from years ago, the one about lord Bolton and the women from that mill, Hazel thinks it to be true, but grandfather says it isn't."

"In your grandfather's eyes lord Bolton is a man who can do no wrong. Even if your grandfather knew it to be true, he'd tell you otherwise."

"If grandfather knew it to be true, then why wouldn't he go to lord Stark?"

"Your grandfather would never betray lord Bolton. They say lord Bolton justified raping that women because she robbed him of his right to first night. Well Farren, you're grandfather is so backward in thought and tradition he too would justify lord Bolton having that right. Blackaver's always been a dog to the Boltons. If Roose Bolton ordered your grandfather to lick the mud off his boots, Blackaver would fall to his knees without question."

Farren pictured it right away, the absurdity bringing a smile to her face.

She looked on and wondered, "…Would father do the same?"

"No, not Ven. He doesn't have that same dying respect for lord Bolton as Blackaver does. But Ven too would never betray lord Bolton. Your father is Blackaver's son don't forget, and your grandfather instilled Bolton loyalty into Ven long ago."

"Your brothers too are being raised to be loyal to the Boltons. Blackaver will beat that loyalty into them if need be." Holly said bitterly. "Then they too will think their overlords can do no wrong. Lord Bolton could rape a hundred women, and still house Frith would remain loyal to house Bolton, as its been for thousands of years."

She viewed the mill over again, thinking of that poor women from the story. Farren decided she just couldn't put trust into such a sad world.

"Honestly, I don't believe its true. But, I just don't understand why someone would make up a roomer to disgrace lord Bolton."

"Have you ever heard such a story told of lord Stark?" Holly asked.

"No." Farren answered.

"That's because filthy stories are not told of men with honor."

"Do you think it's true, do you think lord Bolton could honestly do such a thing?"

"I think Roose Bolton is clever enough to do anything he desires. If he wanted that women, then he'd have her. If he wanted her husband dead, then he'd have it done. He's a high lord after all and high lords are born with power and privilege. But Farren I believe they are not born with honor. A title doesn't prove a man's worth, honor is earned. It can be earned quite easily threw the power a lord is given. But I think lord Bolton uses his power not to win honor but rather to take whatever he wants. Do I believe the story is true, I'd tell you no. As far as the story's correct fact goes, the only people who would know the truth, would be the people who were there that day. If it is true, then I'm glad I wasn't one of those people."

Farren looked behind for a final glance at the mill and tree. She couldn't picture anyone from the story fitting the scene, the only image she could picture was Ramsay swinging from the strongest branch, with the noose tight around his neck. _That's where he actually belongs for what he did to that girl._ It troubled her knowing the Bastard was freed of his crimes or consequences. The wood along the weeping water was always a peaceful place, but Ramsay stole that comfort, now the wood seemed as taken from a dark children's tale, a story where some blood thirsty beast came and claimed the forrest's heart. As of now Farren knew they were safe among their banners, so she rode in ease. There came a distant rumbling over the land, Farren perked up in hearing thundering horses beyond the field. Not far off rode a party of Flayed Man banners moving over the meadow.

"Those banners" Holly asked her knight "Are they an escort?"

"No, I don't believe so my lady," The knight answered looking over the meadow, "Hounds. A hunting party by the looks of it, likely lord Bolton."

 _…Or Ramsay…_ Farren thought as her throat ran dry, but Ramsay and his fashion of hunting were un orthodox, the bastard would have no party of banners.

"Sir Alyson, let us turn." Holly said, pulling on her reigns. "We'll ride the river bank instead."

"But my lady, they've have seen our banners, if we refuse a greeting it would be taken as a slight."

"We should leave them to their sport." Holly argued softly.

"They've turned our way my lady, we'll have to greet them."

Farren noticed her mothers features darken as the flayed man banners drew near. Holly sat up straight, looking to achieve a proud, cold air about her. The knight was correct, lord Bolton led them advent, meeting closely on his steed. Farren saw the man's usual cold demeanor was off, it was instead replaced by a strong aura of vainglory. The corners of the lord's mouth formed a meager grin, but a tiny shift in his usual self. Farren looked Roose Bolton over, he was a small statured man, by which he looked harmless. He didn't look like a rapist, but then what did a rapist actually looked like. Farren pictured a rapist being a strong armed man with dark rimmed eyes and an evil grin, or Ramsay in short. Roose Bolton looked nothing like his bastard, save the eyes. _The story just can't be true._ How could her family be loyal to a rapist? How could a rapist keep a lordship? It just didn't sound possible and had to be a lie. In her mind lord Bolton couldn't be a rapist, in fact he seemed utterly benign, and it shown in his being Ramsay's father. Either the man was completely ignorant of his bastard's behaivor, which in case he'd have to be blind. Or, he just was a terrible father, one that lacked any control of his wildly son. Farren imagined instead Ramsay having her grandfather Blackaver for a father, she believed the bastard would be a completely different person of sure. Blackaver would have commanded obedience or whipped the boy if he refused. Roose Bolton was no Blackaver Frith. Instead lord Bolton was closer to a of door mouse in personality. Always quiet and with the same calm well mannered disposition. Farren caught his smug looking smile grow by another a smidgen at meeting them feet away.

"Lady Frith." He greeted her mother in his soft raspy voice, walking his steed in for close conversation. "What a pleasure on a fine day."

Farren looked to her mother, eyes meeting the women's sore expression.

"I hope you've regained your wellbeing my lady." Lord Bolton asked.

"Yes my lord I have, I feel quit well." Holy answered, finally affording the lord conversation.

"You look quite well my lady." He said, his voice softly satisfied, he leaned to rest in his saddle eyeing the Frith banners. "Where is it your off to with such an escort my lady?"

"West to Crewyn lands, my cousin has fallen ill."

"I hope for her quick recovery." he said in a polite whisper. "Lady Farren, it's a pleasure to see you again so soon." He said acknowledging her. Farren thought his tone shown little pleasure, he was simply observing the courtesy of a greeting.

Farren met his gaze, "You as well, of corse, my lord." She said timidly.

The man eyed her for some time than turned to Holly with a small smile. "Lady Frith, you must be truly proud of your daughter. She is quite a lovely girl. Talented so I've learned, with a passion for healing." He said in his raspy whisper of a voice, strongly eyeing Holly.

Holly starred right back at him, her eyes without feeling. "Ven and I are very proud to have her." She responded coldly.

Farren smiled softly when the lord turned back to her. "We've many books and scrolls on healing practices at the Dreadfort. If it please you lady Farren you'd be welcome to them." He said simply.

"Thank you my lord." Farren answered kindly.

"Farren already knows all she need's to be accomplished." Holly said practically cutting her daughter off.

"Im sure my lady." Lord Bolton gave what sounded like a deep sigh. "Your son Hazel, he truly has a quality of intensity, I could see him leading a vanguard someday. I admit the boy has quite a trait of ferocity in him."

Holly continued to stare at him, "Perhaps he gets it from his grandfather."

"Or perhaps he gets it from his mother." He said boldly, the corners of his mouth ascending.

Farren realized the man had oddly yet to blink, his features so unchanging save the slightest softly grin. Whereas her mother remain stone faced and sullen.

"Your son it seemed doesn't take after his father, Ven is more of a… subdued man. But like his father, Hazel will be a good asset to me, once he learn's proper obedience of corse. I have no doubt lord Blackaver will instill it in him soon enough."

Holly hummed, sounding pleased "I herd he attacked your son."

"My bastard." lord Bolton corrected her kindly.

"Of corse. He would be." Holly said surely.

Roose Bolton eyed Farren again who afforded him the same soft grin,

"Your daughter has your look my lady. Such thick dark hair…stunning for a young women. Truly reminds one of her mother. Only.. her eyes differ, yet they are familiar." He said his own eyes narrowing for a second before they opened again. "Are they that of her fathers?"

Farren swore she herd her mother grit her teeth, "No, I believe her eyes are a more ancient trait, probably from one of her Frith ancestors."

Lord Bolton nodded, "hmm, well, her dowry could be paid on her features alone." He said his voice kindly. "You've both quite the journey ahead, so I mustn't keep you." His gaze met Farren's once more, "My lady." He said with a slight nod to her, before turning to her mother.

With the same complacent grin he eyed Holly, turning his horse and passing her's intimately close.

"Always the finest pleasure, lady Frith." Lord Bolton said sounding vain.

Farren watched the lord ride off with his Bolton banners. _Ugly things._ Holly kept quiet for a long time, Farren felt she shouldn't pester her mother with conversation, the feeling between them seemed to say —let us just simply ride a wile.

* * *

They traveled until evening fell, stopping at an inn to rest in the midway point of their journey. The great hall of the inn Farren enjoyed as it was lively, warmly lit and filled with music. Both she and her mother dinned on pigeon pie with sweet yams. Farren noticed a server pass with several pints of dark ale, she found them tempting and decided to partake in a nice beer to go along with the mild atmosphere.

"Your grandfather wouldn't like you having that." Holly said eyeing Farren's pint of ale.

"I know, Farren growled lowly ""Ale isn't a drink for nobel ladies"" She said impersonating her grandfather. "He'd only allow me wine, like always."

"Its nice to be away from him isn't it." Holly said with a smile.

Farren took notice of the many men sitting with glances fixing on her mother. Sometimes it bothered her and worried her even. Farren herself looked like her mother, save one small feature, her pale eyes. As young children Hazel in his angriest told Farren she'd be just as pretty as their mother, if only she didn't have ugly eyes. He went on to say they looked like two puddles of spilt goats milk. She slapped him for it and cried after, later Farren realized Hazel was right, she could be her mother's twin if only she had her eyes. When her mother would tell her she had beautiful eyes Farren would notice a sadness in her own.

* * *

Their continued journey west was a flicker of time due to Farren's excitement, she knew they drew closer to Winterfell. It was certain their party would pass the great castle en route to the Crewyn held region. Crossing the White Knife River they made their way to the kings road to follow it south. Not far along the road they came upon what she waited for, appearing threw the misty hills sat the great castle, the keep rose up from the land and dominated the landscape. Farren knew within Winterfell's regal walls sat the god's wood, the wood that bore her memory of the hansom Rob Stark. She thought herself a child, a lovelorn girl looking on threw a maiden's eyes, but the castle ahead made is so she couldn't care. _Hold our banners higher_ She thought, wishing to order their escort. _Raise them so the Rabbit on white and green may be seen._ Just ahead stood the crossroads and the lane that led to Winterfell. The Castle remained miles from the road, sitting lone in the hills with not a disturbance in view. When reaching the small junction Farren brought her mare to a halt, her gaze fell upon the opposite path, the road to Winterfell, that was the road she wished to follow.


	6. Meadow of Fate

**This chapter preview -** **Farren explores the land beyond Winter fell. She has an unexpected run in.**

*This chapter has not had complete grammar revisions. The work is in a the process. Please excuse misspelled words and use. Thank you for your understanding. Even if the **.!.?*)** ,. **: is not perfect.** **The story is still there :)**

* * *

The further they rode the smaller the gray speck of Winterfell became, the castle soon disappearing completely as it sunk below the horizon. They pressed on for another thirty miles, finally reaching the humble castle of House Aurum. Chevron banners of gold and orange wafted from its few small towers. Threw the gates Farren and her mother were greeted by their faraway kin. Young lord Aurum amongst his small sons and lady Aurum, their cousin whom Holly warmly embraced. Farren knew House Aurum was a lesser house sworn to House Crewyn, sworn to House Stark. Aurum was a House of smaller means, lord Aurum held a modest castle, its size scarcely a quarter of the Warren. Still the interior of the small castle was charming and warm, Farren felt just at home, welcome amongst her heartfelt relatives she only often knew.

* * *

Throughout their two days Holly spent her time caring for lady Aurum's daughter, the young girl had yet to clear from the cold. In afternoons Farren rode the meadow with lord Aurum's two small sons, the youthful boys had taken a full interest in their much older female cousin. The two always wanted to show off their riding and jumping to Farren, which she found adoring. On the third morning of their stay they brunched on small salmon, surely caught from the close river, Farren noted that fish so fresh were surly netted from the White Knife, She knew the large river flowed north only miles from Winterfell.

"How far is Winterfell from here?" She asked lady Aurum casually starting conversation.

"Only thirty miles to be sure, nothing by horse, it's closer than Castle Cerwyn."

"Do you see the Starks around often?" Farren asked hoping for a yes.

"The Starks come down this way when hunting the southern Wolves Wood. Lord Stark and his sons, more often his sons I'd say." Lady Aurum said.

Farren looked up as her mother joined them, Holly had been checking all morning on their unwell cousin.

"How is she doing? Any better?" Lady Aurum asked Holly concerned.

"Her fever has returned," Holly told them. "I can make a tea to bring down the heat, but we'll need buds of Sweatroot."

Lord Aurum nodded, "Perhaps they can be found at the south market. I'll summon our carter."

"The buds work better if freshly cut." Holly informed, "Sweatroot flowers shouldn't be hard to find, Its a northern flower that usually grows along brooks."

"Well there's a few streams that cut off from the White Knife, they run beyond the meadow up into the wood." lord Aurum said, "I could call to have the buds collected for you right away."

"That's not necessary," Holly said, "I think a little time out doors might be good, Farren and I will go see what we can gather," Holly turned to her lady cousin with care and a soft smile. "Just keep a cold cloth on her head to lower her heat wile I'm gone." Holly said with concern of her ill cousin. "We shouldn't be gone long."

* * *

Farren and her mother rode along the White Knife following the river as it began to thin, they demounted on the bank where the water cut off in two directions. The river split its corse, its smaller outflow rippled over rocky terrain leading into the wood. Farren headed up the sandy bank and over to the wide wild flower meadow. She scanned the far horizon, knowing they were in the up most part of Crewyn lands, Winterfell was surly only miles away like lady Aurum had said. The valley was far open with a wide sky, big enough to see for miles, she looked for even the smallest gray blot of the great keep north. _Uh, give it all up already Farren._ She thought making a futile effort to located the home of the boy she scarcely knew. _Your still acting as a foolish little maiden, thinking of Robb stark and dire wolves and … Which is North anyway?_ She asked herself wile turning slowly once around.

"Farren, come along." Holly called from ahead.

Farren ran back to the banks, there she noticed her mother hadn't tied their horses, the two large animals stood swatting their tails freeing themselves of flies. "Are we just going to leave them to graze?" Farren asked.

"There's nothing around to fix them to," Holly said, "The meadow is large enough that we could see them no matter how far they may go." She ensured. "I think they'll be safe." Farren agreed, looking across the wide open space.

Along the gray sandy bank Farren followed her mother into the wood. As the rush of water settled the brook slowed, the stream cleared away, placid for its stony bottom to become visible. Farren saw a crayfish glide under an upturned rock, It gave her a chill. _Gross._ She thought seeing the rivers rendition of a lobster. The tadpoles that drifted in the water flow were a more pleasing sight, one even had its tiny nubs of legs already sprouted. The further into the wood they ventured the smaller the stream bank became. The grassy forest floor rose on either side forming two bluff's that held the stream low leveled between them. Farren heard a sound as if a branch snapped under ones foot, it made her jump remembering Ramsay, thinking he made the sound, thinking he was close by. She hated how he put her on edge from what he'd done that horrible day, but Ramsay was back in the Bolton's region, the demon she knew was hundreds of miles away. Farren decided she needed to rid her thoughts of Ramsay and the poor girl who died at his hand. She needed to rid her mind for good if she was to carry on with life. _You must not allow that bastard to conquer your nerve._ She thought in strength. Farren's eye caught a glimmer in the stream bed, rocks and soft stones of orange hues shown under the water, the sunlight peeking threw the trees made them shine like gems. She leapt to a large slab rock mid stream for a better view.

"Farren, watch out for moss or you're going to slip." Holly called back.

Farren heeded her mother avoiding the green sod, she bent down to inspect the stoney looking jewels. They were a mixture of hues and shapes, reds and deep oranges, golds looking like ambers and blues like onyx, all finely polished by the flow of the stream. One stone stood out in the vast assortment, a blush tinted stone just larger than a coin, the small rock had a slight groove cut down the middle. Farren plucked it out of the stream, in her wet hand she held what looked much like a red heart, she watched as the water dried it revealing a soft rose color.

"Hey mother, have a look at this rock I fouunn—" Missing her leap Farren landed on the mucky shore just inches from the water. "Look at this stone I found, it looks just like a heart." She said when regaining her balance.

"Farren," Holly said hopeless, "Your hem." Farren watched her mother wave a hand at her, grinning and forlorn.

Farren popped the stone in her pocket and gazed down at her skirts, the bottom hem had soaked up a bit of mud from the stream bed. _Oops._ She thought not really caring, frocks could always be cleaned anyway.

She looked back to the bank seeing a patch of purple sweatroot. Her mother's basket already had several of the flower buds poking out the top. Farren glanced behind seeing the flowers she'd missed wile taking interest only in the stream.

"Farren," Holly called back. "Could you go gather some yellow wolf's bane as well. There's some growing just back in the meadow."

"Okay, sure." Farren said turning with a soft humm.

Starting back from the direction they'd come, Farren realized just how far they'd came, making her seek a quicker way to reach the meadow. The river had cut the land so the two bluffs rose four feet above on both sides of the low level stream, the only way back to the meadow would be to follow the stream until the earth became level. Farren didn't care to walk such a far distance back, above the tree line was thin and if she could get up from the low level stream she could reach the meadow faster. Following the shore line she looked for a rock high enough to boost her to the grassy bank above.

 _That would make a fine step._ She thought eyeing a twisted root, the branch winded it's way in and out of the high sediment wall. Finding her footing she pulled herself upward, gripping two fists full of grass to help lift herself. The root jostled under her feet causing her skirts to press into the bluff's muddy wall. She raised herself with her arms and kicking her feet to balance, with an effort she reached the grassy loft. She noticed streaks of black earth slicked the front of her skirts, left from scraping over the muddy sediment wall. _Ugh, Farren, you should have just gone around._ She thought, cursing herself as she tried to clean off the muck. She didn't have to go far until the trees opened to the meadow. In the endless wild flower field she bent to pluck several yellow wolf's bane flowers from the grass, laying them in her basket.

A sound of riders traveled over the hills easily grabbing her attention. Ambling threw the meadow was an array of banners, the colors looking grayish or white. _Stark_ _Dire wolves._ She thought immediately, standing up for assurance with a better look. From her hight the banners sank and rose out of view, she looked around for a possible way to improved her sight, perhaps a rock to lift her. A near by tree looked to be climbable, but surly would dirty her further _I'm already mud streaked, why not._ She thought gripping the trunk and climbing her way between the split trunk and inching out on a strong limb.

Shrub sap fixed to her palms, her effort to rub it off on the limb only coated her hand in bark. She gazed over the meadow to the band of horses trotting threw the field seeing them perfectly, they were a band of men riding with their banners, at the end of their staffs flew the sigil's of dire wolves. It was a pleasing sight to see Stark banners in place of the flayed man of the House Bolton. _Maybe Robb is among them._ She wondered in high spirits, thinking how wonderful it would be if they rode her way. In a twist of fate the company turned, riding in a direction that would lead them to the river, heading to it's banks where Farren's horses still roamed.

* * *

Just a short sweet chapter to move us along.

-Reminder story contains a non canon elements. No rights reserved.


	7. A Heart to Heart

**Chapter preview— Farren meets up with who she wished. She learns that initial attraction in a person has potential to grow when you begin to learn who that person really is.**

*This chapter has not had complete grammar revisions. The work is in a the process. Please excuse misspelled words and use. Thank you for your understanding. Even if the **.!.?*)** ,. **: is not perfect.** **The story is still there :)**

* * *

Standing along the river bank watering their horses, Farren could see the band of men from afar. One of them checked the two wondering mares of which Farren and her mother left free to roam. Farren started across the meadow along the tree line, heading toward the men. As she held her skirts her hands stuck to the cloth, her palms left sticky from the tree she'd climbed. Wiping the sap on her skirt's front she cursed herself, the tacky paste stuck to the fabric instead of cleaning off. In the midst of running she bent down and rubbed her hands in the grass in effort to clean them. Farren heard the men conversing as she neared, both inquiring about the two left horses.

"Who's are these?"

"Where'd they come from, wondered off the farm you think?"

"But they're saddled."

Farren hurried to reach the debating men, "Hi, Hi." She called for their attention, her arm now waving in the air. When finally greeting them, she smiled friendly. "Hi, hello," She said half out of breath. "Their mine. Hi."

"Good day my lady," Said one of the knights, "It's probably not wise to leave two fine horses for just anyone."

Farren caught her breath, "Hi" She said to another man who just stood starring at her, giving a small awkward wave, before she looked back to the Knight. "Yes, I know. Sir, but there was no place to tie them," She said explaining, "And my mother and I, we're not from here, so we—

"I think I know you my lady."

The sound was familiar, the voice she knew, from a memory fixed in her mind.

Alongside a coper stallion a stood a grinning young man, she saw him. _Robb Stark of Winterfell._

Farren afforded no quick response, unsure of what to say, short of the smallest hello. Her eyes simply widened at him.

"Lady Farren isn't it?" He said meeting her firsthand. "If I remember well… The Princess of Rabbits."

"My lord.. I.." The shock faded, leaving her grinning in amusement, humored by his wit. "Hello, It's a pleasure to see again you my lord." She said holding a hand to mask the grin that formed on her lip, brought about by his naming her.

He smiled in return, "Quite the same my lady." He said starring at her.

Farren gazed at him as he observed her, his face gleaming in a surprise of his own. His brow lifted "What brings you so far from home my lady?"

"My mother and I are visiting family." Farren said. She looked beyond his smile and read his mind, knowing surly what his thoughts were, thinking to herself _What in all hells is this girl doing here, looking like a child of the forrest, popping out of the wood, covered in mud and tree sap._ She reasoned with a _huff._ Left trying to abandon her embarrassment. "Um, my cousin, daughter to lord Aurum, she is fallen ill "

"I hope she finds her health, has lord Aurum a maester?"

"My mother and I are caring for her, we're collecting herbal flowers for medicines." She said, cursing herself for sounding so timid.

"You know of healing?" He asked, sounding impressed his eyes showing as well.

"Yes, quite well, my mother taught me in my youth. Her uncle was a maester so she learned everything from him." She said modest, twisting her basket as she spoke, she stopped when realizing.

"Thats quite fascinating my lady," Robb said, unblinking at her.

He still starred at her as if she had three heads, likely baffled by her random appearance.

"I'm pleased to see you in the Cerwyn valley lady Farren," He kindly admitted, "Truly."

"You as well my lord." She said, alive by the sincerity in his voice.

"It's just Robb, if It please you." He said, taking a step closer. Farren smiled, his granting her informality lifted her, giving her a sense of composure. A long silence fell between them, his eyes kept fixed and smiling at hers. It was him who was now lost in her gaze, Farren could see so. Their quiet lull was overtook with the soft voices of men and summer bugs singing in the grass. Farren glimpsed one of the horses and the deer tied over it, at the sight she seized an opportunity to end their awkward silence.

"What a fine stag." She as a compliment eyeing the dead animal, her hands and basked shyly held behind her. "It was a lie about the stag. Not that the animal wasn't a remarkable kill, but that she hated seeing it dead. She hated the notion of hunting as it was. Men loved their hunting, they loved even more a women's compliment on their success. Farren remembered her mother once told her such complements gave men the same sensation as having a women in their lap. _Always swoon over a man's kill even if you couldn't care, they'll like you better for it._ She thought recalling her mother's teaching.

"Thank you my lady," Robb said appreciative eyeing the stag. "He made for a fine hunt."

"My lord," The knight called over. "The horses have been watered, will we be on our way?"

Farren smiled when Robb turned back to her, "My lady, may I stay with you and rest a wile?" He asked kindly, sounding hopeful.

"If it please you my lord," She stopped, catching herself. "Robb." She said softly. _Just Robb._

Robb with a hand gestured to one of his men, "Cayn, I desire a rest with my lady. You may carry on without me." He said gently and the man replied with a nod.

Farren watched the men ride off, leaving her just as she wished, alone with Robb Stark. Her grandfather would suffer at the thought of her left with a boy, the man was so backward and traditional Farren knew he'd never permit her to be unattended with any young man, even the son of his highest lord. But her grandfather was over a hundred miles away so what did it matter, even if he was ten feet away it mattered not to her, not now.

Robb gazed upon her basket, "What lovely flowers." He said eyeing the collection. Farren thought he sounded similar to when she'd complimented his stag, his formal kindness humored her. She picked one from the basket playfully spinning it in her fingers. "Their buds are used to make a soothing tea," She said humbly. "To help ease my cousin threw her fever. Most of this variety are poisonous, but this sort isn't."

"I think that's impressive," Robb said raising his brow. "Your learning of medicines, I feel such a profession shows a true knowledge. It's wrong the Citadel refuses to teach women who wish to learn." He held out his hand as he spoke. "Why should only men be made maesters, when women are just as capable."

Farren fell in love with his forward thinking, his proving he was no average man. Any ordinary man would fully disagree. She knew her grandfather would laugh at the notion, she could hear him. _Women should only know well of one thing, carrying and birthing their husband's sons._ Farren sighed softly at the bitter thought. She knew It was the same with the majority of men. Even her brother Hazel would disagree with Robb, Farren knew Hazel's preferred girl was one pretty and dumb. Robb's forward thinking made Farren like him even further.

"I believe the same," She said. "Most men however think as my grandfather does. He tells me I should spend more time on my stitching rather than reading books. He's convinced that what men like best in a women is a good hand for sewing their finery…Not that there's anything wrong with that of corse." she said, shaking a hand and reassessing herself, just in case.

"Any girl can stitch my lady, it's the girls who learn to think beyond that who are far more thrilling." Robb said with a grin.

"And have you met many such girls my lord?" Farren flirted.

"No I can't say I have, Robb answered, flirting back with a smirk, "But I learned of one just today, and as it so happens she's standing right before me."

His wit and coquetry made her grin.

"It is as if you arose from the forrest my lady" He said taking a seat on the river bank.

She joined him in the soft grass as the high afternoon sun warmed her. She noticed the filth on her skirts, they remained mud slicked and spotted with sap, all just above her dirty water seeped hem. _He must think me a mess, uhh Farren, you look like a child on a field day, might as well find a hill to go roll down to top it all off with some grass stains._

"I must look a fearful sight." She said gazing down at her mother's disgrace.

"Not at all my lady, you look as lovely as the first night I met you." He said reassuring. "I know it's been weeks, but I remember how you caught me completely the night we met. I've thought of you since the Bolton commendation, remembering that night in god's wood." He tilted his head to meet her gaze.

Farren smiled but said nothing, she'd heard him say what she wished, but in the moment a different thought ran threw her mind, she realized he scarcely knew her, as she did him, that was the reality of the dream.

Her silence unassured him, he held a hand to his jaw scratching his finely cut beard, "You must think me too forward, I don't intend to be." He said loosing his composure, Farren noticed his face flushed.

"No, no, I thought of you as well," She said hastily. _You have no idea how often I did…_ "I feared I wouldn't be given the chance to see you again, not for any time soon."

"I thought the same, He said smiling at her. "but it seems fate thought otherwise."

He laughed softly, and slowly he graced a hand over hers in the grass, "I remember you very well my lady, your pretty eyes, their color astounding, how could I forget them."

His complementing her eyes fed her attraction to him. He was possibly the most hansom young man she'd ever known. His frame composed of a strong build, his deep blue eyes enchanting, the sunlight touching his brown hair showing off it's pleasing amber red underlay. Robb's dapper appearance and broad shouldered figure reminded her of her brother Hazel, even Robb's cropped beard was that of what Hazel could grow. She wasn't attracted or in love with her brother, not at all, but she knew girls threw themselves at him, simply because Hazel was exceedingly hansom. Robb certainly was the same and it bothered her, she was no fool, and she certainly wasn't the only girl who ever wanted Robb Stark, nor was she the only girl he ever wished to have. How could he actually feel for her when he scarcely knew her. Farren forced herself to abandon the thought, believing Robb's words were authentic, and surly genuine. Another glance into his striking eyes was convincing enough.

"I remember you lady Farren," He said softly shifting close to her, now wrapping his large hand around hers half the size. "I haven't forgotten your smile or how you kissed me." He whispered, inching in toward her, his lips hovering just above her own. She closed her eyes as she kissed him, the tip of his tongue stimulating hers. Absorbing her with the graceful touch of his lips, his kiss confessing a longing and desire. She felt his strong hand grip her waist then travel down her side following the curve of her figure, his other hand held softly at her neck, his thumb at her chin. His grasp rooted below her hip, his hand carried throughout the folds of her skirts. Suddenly he withdrew his kiss,

"What's this?" He said pulling his hand from her dress. He opened his hand, holding a pinkish stone in his palm. The small rock Farren had plucked from the river bed. "It looks like a heart." He said observing it. He held it to her, hovering the stone on her chest just above her heart. Her smile mirrored his. Leaning in to touch his lips to hers again,

"Ouch, wha?" Farren pulled away feeling a sharp rock snag her skirts and prick her thigh, she reached around and found it was an arrowhead, sticking out from his quiver laid just behind her.

"Oh, wow, I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't of just threw them there," He said moving the quiver of arrows. "Did it get you?" he asked concerned.

"No, but it got my frock with a rather good a rip." She said noticing the damage.

"Farren I'm so sorry." He said apologetic, running a hand over the rip. "I hope it's not ruined.. I'm really sorry."

"Please don't be, It's only a tare. I couldn't really care about it anyway." She admitted, tossing the fabric casually aside.

"Really, your not just saying that?" He said in disbelief.

Farren brushed off her frock, "No really, its only a dress." She said careless. Truly it didn't bother her, even if it had been her favorite dress it wouldn't faze her. If it had been Hazel who ripped it however she'd probably would have brought a fist down on him. But Robb, she'd let him rip her best dress if he wished.

 _He could rip it off me_ , she thought, allowing herself a quick non maiden wish.

Robb appeared surprised at her indifference, "If you were my sister Sansa you'd be in tears by now." He said eyeing the tare.

"Yeah, well, I think so would my mother at the sight of me." Farren said gazing down at her skirts that the day pretty much ruined. Robb laughed at what she'd said about it, and continued laughing. Farren grinned, She hadn't meant it to make him laugh, but was happy for it and soon realized it was quite amusing.

"Farren…"

She looked up hearing her name, seeing her mother venturing from the wood. Robb stood quickly, holding a hand out for Farren, she graciously took it letting him help her up. Pointing shyly to the young man next to her she blushed.

"Mother, this is lord Starks eldest son, Robb Stark of Winterfell."

"Its a pleasure lady Frith." He said. Farren perceived a faint awkwardness in his voice, surly nervous.

"Just as well my lord." Holly said observing him.

"Robb and I were just talking of medicines," she said cautious.

He caught on in discretion, "Yes, Farren's told me of your cousin's ill health, I hope for her quick recovery my lady." He said kindly.

"Thank you my lord," Holly said, "Farren Im afraid its time we got back, we shouldn't be late." Holly said nestleing her basket under her arm.

"Of corse mother," Farren said, it took all her strength to withdraw the disappointment in her voice.

"My lady," Robb said, bending for her basket and handing it off, his fingers graced hers, a grin forming on his face. " Would it be okay if I rode to castle Aurum to call on you tomorrow," He asked, turning quickly on heel to face Holly "If I may be permitted, by your lady mother of corse."

 _Please say yes…_ Farren thought, she stood grinning and nodding to her mother in effort to force her agreement.

"I see no problem with that." Holly said and Farren's heart lifted.

Robb nodded to Holly, grinning. Farren smiled when his hand clasped hers again bringing it to his lips gently. She watched him take up his quiver and bow and gracefully mount his horse, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Until tomorrow then my lady." He said.

"I look forward to the day." She said sweetly.

 _Robb…Just Robb._ Farren thought on her return ride. She felt for the stone in her pocket, the little heart shaped rock that now reminded her of him. Her hand shifted about, discovering she was left with out the heart stone, either she'd left it on the river bank, or perhaps he'd simply taken it with him.

* * *

 **Okay, so honestly I'm not for writing mushy girl stuff, I enjoy drama instead, but for the story to play out properly there needs to be a strong relationship between the two characters before the war begins. So hang in there. :)**

 **OH! oh! and thank you to all my followers and any readers, oh my gosh you guys are awesome! I hope you like what you've read so far, let me know what you think. :)**


	8. Evening In The Glen

**Chapter Preview — Farren and Robb fall closer to one another, in a wooden glen, he teaches her something new.**

Warning: This chapter is rated M for sexual content.

* * *

Robb called upon Farren as good as every day throughout the flowing week, they spent most of their days riding the valley. She learned of him, seeing him for who he really was. It was clear he too could see her, past the pretty maiden, past the facade she'd lived behind. Robb didn't approach her as the frail object her grandfather made her out to be, he treated her as a person rather than looking at her as a doll. He was kind and charming, he was intelligent and spoke to her so, she was no simple girl in his eyes. Their conversations made some of her finest memories, they'd talk until the sun drifted across the sky.

Farren cherished her days with Robb, but her evenings were filled with a rejection of warnings, all of her mother telling her not to fall for such a boy. Holly's speeches and lectures becoming tedious,

 _He's the first born son of lord Stark Farren, the son of our liege lord's own liege. He's not just some son of one of lord Bolton's bannermen, he's the son of the warden of the north. Son's of Stark lords marry into houses of their equal, thats just they way things are done. Farren, you've told me already and I know you don't care, I know you're not thinking of marriage, I know you don't love him._

 _But I just don't want to see you get hurt._

She understood and Farren was careful, avoiding thinking to far into the future, to her only the next day mattered. She would drown out her mothers words and fill her mind with thoughts of the day to come.

* * *

Farren rode in the glow of sunset, trotting threw a golden wheat field and beyond the meadow to the edge of the wolves wood. On horse she followed a deer trail until reaching a clearing in the wood, coming upon a sodded green glen, the one that waited for her. She knew it well, the soft grass from lying in it often, the familiar light threw the treetops which it passed. In the evening the leaves glowed transparent, lingering until they lost their hues and turned to shadow. There she found Robb on a fallen oak sitting in wait for her, she greeted him as their horses did one another.

He looked as hansom as always, only "You've brought your bow." She said gazing curiously upon what was wrapped round him.

"I was hunting for foul earlier."

"Any luck?" She asked happy.

"A few fine birds, but If I'm really lucky maybe I'll get a rabbit." He said flirting with her, pecking her cheek as she joined his side.

Robb pulled the bow off himself and leaned it against the trunk, "I always keep a bow on me when there's been sightings of wildling raids."

"Raids, really?" Farren asked surprised. "The wildlings come down this way?"

"They come over the wall often, steal and attack small folk, they have no honor and would easily shoot anyone in the back. And it's not just the men, you need to watch out for the women as well."

"Women?" Farren asked in disbelief, she didn't understand how women could be dangerous.

"Wildling women are just as big a threat as their men, both raid and pillage the land."

"That's so frightening." Farren said concerned. "I heard wildlings could come over the walls, but never actually thought they did."

"Do wildlings not come onto Bolton lands?" He asked surprised.

"I don't believe so often, at least I've never seen them. My grandfather says Bolton sworn lords are vigilant men. The Boltons themselves have beacons throughout the region, all of which are maned day and night..so I guess he's right… But, my father says wildlings don't come onto Bolton lands because men fear the Boltons. Their sigil alone is terrifying."

"It is a bit daunting." Robb admitted easily.

"I despise that flayed man sigil," Farren said bitterly, "It's an ugly thing used to intimidate and remind men of who the Boltons are. I hate seeing my brothers have to carry it. My smallest Brother can't wait to carry it, he knows it's an honor."

"Carrying the sigil of your liege lord is an honor." Robb said contradicting.

"Pssht, sure, holding a stick with a rag of a flayed man at the end of it," Farren said threw laughing. "That truly is an honor."

Robb laughed at what she said, shaking his head with a grin.

"So huh," Farren started "Wildling women are just as dangerous as men? Really?" She asked still unbelieving, it had sounded a bit far fetched.

"It's true, they carry spears and knives, and could easily shoot one full of arrows."

Farren couldn't take her eyes off the bow at the thought of it in a women's hands. She was astonished that women could be as dangerous as men, even more so that their men allowed them to act that way.

She loved the notion of a women having such power and a man being excepting of it. The people who lived just beyond the wall were thought to be savages, but it was these people who treated their women as equals, rather than their subordinates. If a wildling women could shoot an arrow Farren knew she could as well. Only, she was born just south of where she'd have that freedom.

"You want to have a try?" Robb asked taking up the bow.

Farren starred at him, her mouth fell slightly ajar, had he read her mind? She gazed at the bow desperately wanting to it,

but she waved a hand at it, "No, no, I couldn't.. I never even held one." She said with a modest grin, gently pushing the bow back toward him.

"You've never held a bow before?" He asked, his brow raised. "Never?"

"Is that strange?" Farren asked thinking of it.

"No, but there's nothing wrong with that… I have two younger sisters, one who'd never touch a bow even if you made her, and the other… well she could probably best most boys her age.

"It's nice to hear she wants to do something other than stitch, and that your father actually allows her to use a bow. I've heard some men don't think such things are odd, but my family's too traditional." Farren said eyeing the weapon. "I'd like to try, really, but I feel my grandfather would loose his sanity if he saw me… even though he is hundreds of miles away, I just know he wouldn't like seeing such a thing."

"I doubt he's going to see you from a hundred miles away." Robb said.

Farren laughed a moment before her smile faded and she frowned. "I know. But I feel like he's hiding behind one of these trees and is going to show himself just as I pick up those arrows."

Robb laughed hardy, soon holding a hand to his mouth.

"Whats so funny?" Farren asked with a smile.

"hm hmm hmm, Nothing, I just pictured an old man popping out from behind a tree." He said laughing again.

"Yeah, Ha, hmm.." Farren made an effort to join in the humor but couldn't "Ha, hmm,… yeah…he's not that old." She admitted threw a false grin.

"Isn't he you grandfather?"

"yeah. But he's not what you'd think, he was married at thirteen years of age and he had his first child but a year after. He had my father when he was sixteen."

"Oh.." Robb said taken aback.

"Yeah, my grandfather could practically be my father by proper age, and so he acts like it. My actual father, he'd think it strange but I feel he wouldn't mind me trying to use a bow."

"So then," asked Robb taunting her with a shake of the bow, "Would you like to try then?"

Farren gazed it over still debating, she knew Blackaver would never permit her to touch a weapon. Hazel once let her hold the sword he received for his name day, she only wished to view it closely, see the details in it's metal, the little running rabbit cut into it's steel. Having glimpsed the sword in her hands Blackaver ripped it from her grip. Farren remembered how hard the man backhanded her brother, the blow caused his lip to bleed. Then Blackaver chided him, calling him thoughtless and growing at him angry— _You'd let a women hold a sword boy? I should to whip you properly. Where's your mind at letting a women hold a weapon, she could of easily hurt herself._

Farren eyed the bow again, scowling in loathing of her grandfather, she heard the _crack_ of Blackaver's hand across Hazel's face.

"I best not," She said lacking spirit. "Ladies shouldn't hold weapons."

"Is that what you truly believe?" Robb asked unconvinced.

"No, I wish I could…but really I would only prove a fool. I don't even know how."

"I'll teach you." He said as he stood, aimed an arrow at a tree and gracefully demonstrated for her, "Nock the arrow, pull back, and release." The arrow flew loose hitting a large knot in the tree's dead center.

Farren thought on the offer and gave in _…No one will ever know._ She thought feeling better for it. Smiling she took the bow from Robb and followed exactly what he'd shown her. "Nock, pull back," She said, setting the bow and focusing "…Release."

Letting the bow loose the arrow barely fluttered, it moved like ball thrown by a small child, landing upright in the grass nearly six feet from her.

"Pssht" She laughed at the sight.

"That was good." Robb said, his tone he kept serious as to actually try to complement her.

Farren turned to him, "That was horrible." She grinned, amused by his wishing to please her.

"This time, let me help you." He said stepping close behind.

He set her arm high and placed her fingers beyond the arrows fletching, her others he lined before the bolt.

"Hold firm.." He told her instructing, "Okay now, nock..pull back..and release."

The arrow flew strong and straight, hitting the tree inches below the other and planted firmly.

"I did it!" Farren turned to him smiling. "Oh my gods!" She gazed on in disbelief, following over to inspect the landed arrow, the shaft fastened deep in the bark. "Holly hells, I wish my brother Hazel was here to see, he'd think the sky could turn green more likely then this."

"Beautifully done," Robb said taking her hand in his so to set her up once more. "This time let me show you something more."

She Felt him rub her from behind, his body pressed against hers with his breath warming her neck. Robb's hands held her own, wrapping fully around them, allowing her body to move as his puppet. His lips moved to her ear, "nock" he whispered shifting her fingers in his to place, "Pull back." His words soft floated in her ear. "Loose." The arrow shot forward hitting the tree's center competing with the other in place.

Farren turned to him grinning, her smile he closed with a kiss. His lips locked to hers and their kiss grew passionate and deep. He bent and laid her in the grass, his hand traveled her body dipping below the fabric at her chest line. His flesh warmed exploring her breast, his thumb traced her nipple. She delighted in his gentle touch of his hand and his body pressed against hers. She knew comfort in his touch, becoming accustom to the feel of his hands over the past week. It wasn't until their third affair that he fondled her tenderly. She thought his delay out of respect, or in need of some assured courage. She savored having his hands on her but longed to touch him in return.

Farren pushed her back to his chest, her rump brushed against his lap and she recognized what he desired, what she had induced. Rolling to face him, her hand slid along his core, lowering until she felt what she'd brought on. With a hand, she rubbed against the hardness under her palm, curious in what her touch would do. She felt him. She killed her shyness knowing he craved her touch. His fingers clasped wrapping her hand in his, moving over his covered manhood. Her fingertips rose to meet the flesh atop his groin, slipping below his jerkin and timidly inching lower. She felt the heat of his body radiated into her palm, then she felt him, knowing she'd held his cock her hand. His hand descended to join hers, showing her what wanted and she followed his motion. He urged her on with a moan, the sound parted his lips just inches from hers. She felt him untied his jerkin just enough to draw himself out, once more he grasped her hand in his, both in motion. Soon his lips abandoned hers, withdrawing from his kiss with a raspy shuttering grunt, "Gods, Farren." She felt his release, a wetness spit over her fingers. She knew it was his seed that trickled down her knuckles. She felt enjoyment in it. Being aware of what she'd caused was rewarding, knowing she'd brought him pleasure.

Before she could express he was on her with his tongue in her mouth, hovering over her body with strength in his arms. His kiss soft at her neck and his hand under her skirts. With his fingertips and thumb gripping her inner thigh, he pulled away from her kiss, his eyes met her own. She gazed into them, anticipating what was to come. His touch ran smoothly up her thigh, slowly his fingers drew over her skin, nearing and ready to enter her. She felt the heat of his hand between her legs, knowing the warmth of his fingertips just before, She gasped at feeling what slid inside her, the motion of his hand causing her lungs to liberate a soft pant. His thumb massaged her above, causing her to murmur his name. No longer could she control her body as she was now under his rule. She arched her back and coiled her toes as her lips parted for him. With a soft gasping moan she shivered, the forbidding feeling she could not name.

The leaves now cast their shadows, the sun's glow replaced by moonlight and accompanying stars. Laying in his embrace, Farren heard summer bugs in the grass, their chirps competing with one another to fill the night's silence. The way of the world was unwelcome in that glen. All was as it should be in Farren's mind. There was no demon in the forest, no bastard of rape, no twisted tree under which a woman was taken against her will, no foul lies of the lord of the land. There was no fear in Robb's arms. It was as if she were in a story from her youth, one of knights and maidens, a tale to tell of a perfect world. In the night It was no fiction, the grass below was real, as true as the man that held her. _This is what I want always._ Farren thought in his embrace, she had no other desire.

Though even in bliss she could not ignore what was unsought in her mind. Robb showed her the fields and forest surrounding Winterfell, but he had yet to take her inside the grand castle's walls. Farren wondered the reason, thinking perhaps he was uncomfortable revealing her. Exposing his past week's affair of him visiting inappropriately with a girl. Robb's age freed him to be with Farren, but the two together was frowned upon by most nobles. Farren's thoughts filled with an unwanted doubt…Still Robb kissed her softly, leaning against her he whispered,

"Tomorrow, I wish to take you home with me… take you to Winterfell."

The words he'd spoke so softly she them an illusion. Truly he could read her, he could see into her as she saw him. Again the night left Farren thinking only of tomorrow.

* * *

 **Thank you sooo much to my followers and readers! Really you guys are the best! You all make everything worth my writing and sharing this story. Thank you for your comments too! Also I apologize for any miss spelled or skipped words in past chapters. In the next chapter Farren will definitely be traveling to Winterfell to meet Robb's family.**


	9. A Tour Among Wolves

**This chapter preview - Robb gives Farren a tour of his home. He learns a few things he never knew about her.**

 **-This chapter does contain NON CANON elements.**

*This chapter has not had complete grammar revisions. The work is in a the process. Please excuse misspelled words and use. Thank you for your understanding. Even if the **.!.?*)** ,. **: is not perfect.** **The story is still there :)**

* * *

Robb spoke true to Farren, the very next morning he rode to escort her north to Winterfell. The closer they neared the great keep the more anxious Farren became. _You have no reason to be so concerned._ She told herself to settle nerve. The rising of Winterfell enticed her, It was not the castle that caused her an uneasy feeling, but the people she'd meet inside. What would they think of her? Surly they'd question why she was there. She assured herself she had nothing to fear, but her untamed thoughts said she was soon to be simply a rabbit among wolves. A glance at Robb reassured her once more, it was he who wanted her there, even if his family chose not to approve, Robb still wished her to be at his side, otherwise she wouldn't be.

From the haze of the mists came a playful shouting. A youthful mud covered boy came running over the hill, he sped between past them with a large grin on his mud splattered face.

"Can't catch me!" He bellowed behind him.

Soon after came his pursuer, another boy just his size in hight. As the boy drew near Farren's eyes narrowed. Gazing closer she realized the youthful boy was not a boy but a girl, a girl adorning a mud coated frock with a mud speckled face.

"You'll be sorry when I do!" The girl called out.

As she hurried past in a sprint Robb called out to her, "Whoa, hey. Hey!" He said veering his horse slightly to meet her.

"Not now Robb I'm on the hunt!" The girl called dipping under the horses neck.

"Hang on a second." Robb said and the girl doubled back around.

"You should see yourself." He said smiling.

"It's not my fault," The girl said glancing down at her splattered dress. "I was pushed."

Robb turned his horse as she started off again, "Hold on, hold on, I want you to meet someone…" He said and the girl turned on heal.

"This is Farren, she's visiting from the east." Robb said as he held out a hand and looked aside. "Farren may I introduce my sister Arya….at her best." His voice sarcastic with a grin on his face.

The girl Arya smiled, "Welcome." She said proper and dipped in a curtsy. Farren could tell the girls sweetness was meant to be a humorous jest, she laughed at the sight of the mud coated girl observing the courtesy, the scene she found hilarious.

"Thank you my lady." Farren said giggling, trying to hold to the jest and acting proper herself, "What a fine dress." She said trying hard not to laugh.

"Why it is, tis it not, my new favorite I must say." The girl Arya said patting down her frock and pretending to be snooty. Farren laughed, too impressed by the girl's ability not to break character.

Robb shock his head, "The minute mother sees you she's going to have your septa drown you in a bath." He said.

Holding a hand at her hip Arya plucked a bit of muck from her shoulder and flicked it aside. "Then I'll simply have to avoid her seeing me." She said witty.

"Givin up Arya!" Called the voice of the young boy from afar.

Arya held a hand to her mouth to call back, "You'd wish." She took off running, her feet carrying her down the hill,

"Byyye…" She yelled back her voice shaking as she ran. "It was nice meeting you!"

Farren watched her sprint after her chase, arms waving for balance as she scurried down the hill.

"She's quite the laugh isn't she. Does your mother and father allow her to act so…so…like what I just witnessed?" Farren asked with a soft laugh.

"Not really, but she just kinda does as she pleases."

Farren smiled, falling in love with the younger girl's spirit, she saw herself similar, thinking such a game must be a thrill, but she'd never of been permitted to play in a such a fashion in her own youth.

* * *

In entering the large gates of Winterfell, Farren fixed to imprint her mind, it would be an experience worth recall. Although she'd been inside it's gates once before, Farren hadn't seen the keep as it truly was. The hustle and bustle of the courtyard alone impressed her, with its many occupants tasking at work, the yard had a feel of a village. The Warren could to be a busy place at times, but it was left incomparable to the commotion around her. The air filled with sounds of hammering smiths and the voices of both male and female calling out in their undertakings. The smells of burning smoke and fire wafted in the wind, mingling with the scents of rosemary and fresh bread most likely from the kitchens or a outdoor stoves.

The large wooden doors opened smoothly revealing a chamber of grander. Farren delighted in the setting of the great hall, the beauty of it's many stitched banners and carvings of dire wolves. The last time she'd been in that hall she hadn't appreciated its charm, spending that whole night staring at Robb other than the walls. All were adorned with large candled channelers, jetting over the halls many hearths. Farren pictured the Starks gathering inside the room during a heavy snow, how cozy it must be, always a treat of the north. The hall's comforting atmosphere reminded her of the Warren, only larger and more grand. A hall in the castle of a ruling lord. Perfect and nothing at all like the Dreadfort. Winterfell's high walls adorned the banners of hansom dire wolves, other than horrid banners of the flayed man. Indeed close to Farren's favorite feature.

A the high table sat a faction of men, among the group a maester, a knight and several others, all looking as men of importance in the way they dressed. The many surrounded a single man positioned at table's center. He looked as northman should, his features stern but valiant, his appearance was that of an even tempered man, in that he spoke mildly yet firm. He sat posing before an array of parchments with a quill in hand. Farren could reason him to be one man only. _Lord Stark._ Her inkling confirmed when Robb called for his attention.

"Father, We have a visitor. If I may make an introduction."

"Is this the young lady I've heard of?" The high lord asked.

"Yes, Father I'd like to introduce Farren of house Frith. She is visiting the Crewyn ruled valley.

"Farren my father, lord Eddard."

"Why it's a pleasure my lady." Farren felt a fearsome shiver run over her, the man before her was the ruler of all the north, the lord paramount, never had she met a man of such importance.

"As well my lord, truly." She said making a strong effort to scratch to timidness from her voice.

"Frith." The lord said nodding. "Ah yes, sworn to House Bolton, Rabbit sigil correct."

Farren smiled, her mind in disbelief, never expecting him to know such a fact. "Yes my lord. I find it an honor you could recall."

"I know of all northern houses, each one is as important as the next." He said reassuring her with a kind smile. "And who is it you are staying with in lord Crewyn's lands."

"My cousin born to house Aurum."

"Ah, Lord Aurum is a fine man." The lord said.

"Father, I had the pleasure of meeting lady Farren at her lord's commendation." Robb informed. "When I discovered she was visiting the Crewyn valley I thought it lordly to show her the country side."

"Oh, well," The man grinned largely as a small laugh escaped him "How lordly of you Robb." Farren picked up a hint of humorous sarcasm in the mans voice. "I must say lady Farren, it seems you've brought out an oddly fine quality in my son. One rarely thing indeed. My lady, If its magic you may possess, I urge you to continue you in casting your spell." The lord said smiling.

Farren grinned, as did Robb with a certain deviling glance at his sire.

"I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay my lady." Lord Eddard said happily welcoming.

"Thank you My lord." Farren grinned wide, in hearing true kindness.

How pleasing a lord was Eddard Stark. The stern man proved to be humorous and kindly under his facade. She'd only ever seen the man from afar, picturing him to be more a cold, similar to lord Bolton or her grandfather, but even in their brief introduction she witnessed true heart in the man.

* * *

They walked the court yard, Robb casually introduced Farren to each person they passed, she noticed the keep's working occupants seemed a happy lot. Proving such a contrast to the men and women who served at the Dreadfort. In her many visits to the Bolton stronghold Farren considered the people serving within in it's walls to be either cold or timid and all without the friendly faces she'd seen around Winterfell.

"Your father, he wasn't what I expected him to be." Farren admitted to Robb as they strolled the grounds.

"No, how so?"

"I suppose, I may have pictured him more of a cold man, most northern lord's personalities meet our surroundings, but your father, he's nothing of the sort."

"Don't let him fool you," Robb told her with a tilt of his head. "The man can be quite stern at times."

"Oh I do not doubt, but he has a kind air about him. My guess thoughts portrayed him to be different I suppose."

"Well, I must admit, he's a good father. I consider myself lucky to have him."

"As you should." Farren said smiling.

Robb held out his hand, helping Farren over a mud puddle. "He's taught me a great deal in my life, I am to take his place one day, so he strives to prepare me."

"He's done a fine job," Farren admitted. "You already have all the qualities of a fine lord."

"I feel I still have a lot to learn." He admitted with a shrug. He gave a wave to a boy carrying two water pales. "Hi, Garth." He softly greeted the boy as they passed.

Farren smiled, "You already know tenderness." She complemented kindly.

"Lords don't always have that luxury I'm afraid."

"Yes, I do know." Farren said. "But there is a reason your father is warden of the north, and it's not just because his name is Stark. It's because he was raised to a Stark. He was raised to be a man well liked." Farren admitted, it was her true feeling on the matter, so why not say.

Robb raised his brow, "And being born a Stark makes a man well liked?"

Farren looked at him, thinking for a moment. "Well, no I guess not. But the Starks are well admired by the north. Lords who are loved hold their power for that reason alone. That is why you were raised to be how and who you are."

"And who am I exactly?" Robb said subtly amused.

"Robb Stark." Farren said kindly, he stopped for a moment most surly in thought, Farren continued to stroll on smiling, only to find him hurry again to her side.

"I know you'll live up to your fathers expectations." She said thoughtful.

A tapping aloft caught her ear, turning with a gaze skyward she saw a small boy on the arch above the walkway. The youth inched across the structures bend then jaunted in a leap to the stone battlements. The boy easily hopping about quick and nimble as If he were a squirrel between trees. Farren watched anxiously as the boy grabbed the thin stone edge above him, using his strength to lift himself.

"Hi down there!" He called wile having a seat and letting his legs dangle. "Robb who's she?"

"A friend, her name's Farren, I'm showing her around today." Robb called upward, holding a hand to shield his eye from the sun.

"Hello" The boy called grabbing the ridge above him to inch along again.

"Hi," Farren greeted as she watched him closely. "The ledge he walked was no more than a foot length from the wall, the boy now near to twenty feet from the ground. He made her nervous in being so high, acting as it his leaping was nothing, in total control of his step. Farren remembered how children, especially boys truly had no fear, as they did not understand the way of the world, in carelessness they think no harm could come to them. She remembered how she and Hazel used to take risks on running over thin ice, it wasn't until she'd matured and realized just how stupid they acted. The boy aloft was still a child, a youth with no fear. A shred of stone gravel shed from the wall he inched around, dust falling from under his boot. Farren looked, her eyes wide in concern.

"Oh my. Wow.. Okay." She said turning to Robb in disbelief. "He should be careful."

"He is usually," Robb said, "He's probably showing off for you. Bran…Mother wouldn't like seeing you up there!" Robb called out to him, however his tone was no warning. Which concerned Farren, she kinda wanted him to climb down, but knew it was not her place to order him so.

"He's adorable," Farren said still trying to keep from insisting the boy come down. "My little brother's near his age, I usually get all soft and motherly around him. I can't help it." She admitted. "I know once he grows up however he'll probably be likely to just make me want to smack him, like my other two brothers."

Robb laughed, "Well, you'll make a good mother in the sense. You'd probably melt when meeting my youngest brother but he's probably passed out in a nap by now, he tires himself out fast enough."

"So the rest of Winterfell," Robb said rubbing his hands together. "I'm sure you remember the gods wood," He flirted with cheeks flushed. "Hey, would you like to see my mother's sept?"

Wanting him to leave nothing out, Farren shook her said yes.

* * *

She knew a sept was a house for worshiping the new gods, from what she understand such a structure would be a quaint, modest place as men were humble before the gods, but upon entering the building she was astounded. The walls were painted in intricate stunning details. The ceiling above was a glassed paned window red, blue and green, in the shape of a seven pointed star. Circling her were the seven statues of the new gods, each made of finally crafted stone, all with different gems for eyes. Farren viewed the room's grandeur altogether amazed.

"Wow" Her voice echoed with an "ooowoow"

"Ive never been in a sept." She admitted.

"Yeah…Wait, really?" Robb said taken aback.

"Really, there's not many septs that I know of around the weeping water, the Bolton's are true northmen, faithful to the old gods, so there'd be no reason for them to build such things. If there are any septs in our region I doubt they're anything like this."

"I forget most northerns only worship the old gods." Robb said.

"My entire family always has." Farren told him. "My mother's and father's worship only the old gods, to my grandfather they are not the old gods they're the only gods. That's probably why I've never stepped foot in one of these before" She said realizing it herself.

Farren said gazed at the painted star above. "This is beautiful."

"My mother insisted it be built when she moved up from the south, and elaborate to, she'll deny that part."

"I think It's so wonderful your father worships the old gods and your mother the new." Farren said still gawking up at the painted celling. "Do you ever choose between them?" Farren asked curious.

Robb glanced around the room at the seven statues, "You have to choose when you pray to the seven, you pray to each for different matters. Or wait…Did you mean between the old gods and the new? No, I guess I believe in both."

"You can worship throughout the land," Farren said. "In practically all of Westeros. It isn't so with the norther gods, there are no longer heart trees in the south, I find it sad. That's the reason my father doesn't like to travel to far south."

Farren looked the seven statues over trying her best to determine which god was which, thinking of the seven roles spoken by couples to be wed in the faith of the new gods. The warrior god was easy to spot.

"So thats the warrior," She said pointing to the staute. "Thats the mother, the father, uh smith..the smith, the crone, the maiden and" Farren for the life of her could not remember the seventh, she grinned however, "And…and..that other one." Farren said turning on heel, facing him with pride.

Robb grinned chuckling at her. "The stranger." He said.

"The stranger, why the stranger?" Farren asked confused, looking over the seventh statue again.

"He just is, I didn't make it up." Robb said laughing," It's better explained in the seven pointed star."

"The seven pointed star?" Farren asked, it sounded familiar but she was still unsure.

"The book of the seven, tells of the new gods."

"Oh thats right! right, right…oh! I would loooove to read that," Farren said softly longing.

It was no lie, she wished to better understand the beliefs of other men, the other gods so many men worshiped. Such texts would not be welcome in the library of the Warren, Blackaver would never allow a book of the sort. Both he and her father Ven were devout to the old gods, praying to them often. Farren believed her grandfather might name her a heathen if he saw such a book in her hands. Reading the book of the new gods she knew for certain would not convert her however, she was raised to believe in the old gods, the gods of her fathers and she believed them to be true. Though how _cold_ she read such a book as the Seven Pointed Star? Her grandfather would most likely rip it from her hands and throw the book into a hearth fire.

 _He would never allow me to read it._ She thought realizing the chance shed take in doing so. She knew just how serious Blackaver was in the matter, when Hazel and Verek were small boys they broke two branches off the Warren's heart tree, striping them of their bright red leaves, then played with the sticks as swords. When Blackehaver discovered what they'd done he'd called them sacrilegious, sinners for having violated the god's tree. Farren remembered how he forced Hazel and Verek to kneel before the Weirwood for hours in prayer, afterward he beat them. She felt a strong sadness, If she granted her own wish to read the book of the new gods, she could only do so in private and never speak of it.

"That book," She said turning back to Robb. "I think it would be interesting, just to learn of a different beliefs. There are so many religions in the world, wouldn't it be something to know them of all. Not just their names, but what they're all about." Farren walked the circled room to look upon each statue repeatedly, she turned to find a smiling Robb.

"You're a passionate person Farren," He said with a truth in his eyes. "I love that about you.

"Thank you" She said timid, softly smiling. She hadn't expected it.

"I'd be happy to get you a copy of the book of the seven. Come." He said holding a hand out for her to take. "Let me show you Winterfell's library. You'll love it."

* * *

He knew her well, the room of books and scrolls was charming place. Cozy and inviting with soft chairs and a fine sofa bench. It had but one window though the hearth's glow in the corner granted enough warmth and fine lighting. The large hearth rug sank comfortably underfoot as farren walked admiring the splendor. In the rooms center a wide table was the topped already with open books and unrolled parchments. The little chamber was delightful as a whole, she pictured one bored on a chilled day finding salvation in that room. Curled and warm, reading with out care as the snows piled outside. She smiled It was rooms such as these that made her thankful she was a northerner.

Robb scanned the books on the table along with her, his eye having caught one, he pulled it out from the others.

"Wow, I haven't seen this one since I was a child," Laying out the thick red leather bound. "It was one of my favorites. My brother must have been in it. I used to love this one, my mother would it to me in hear during heavy snows.

Farren viewed the books spine where its title had been imprinted in black.

 _Children's tales of the Nobel words of Westeros._

"Do you know this one?" Robb asked flipping threw it's pages. "They are short little fables of how the nobel houses of Westeros devised their familie's words. They're not true of corse. Just fiction stories writen for children."

"Oh!" Farren softly gasped recalling the tales. "I know what you are talking about, I didn't have this book in my youth, but my father told me the story of House Frith's words, the story of the rabbit?…" She thought for certain it was not likely in the book as her house was not of a ruling name. "Its probably not in here." She said wile flipping threw.

Robb moved to help her, "Check in the section of northern houses…"

They spun over many house titles until Farren's eyes lit up, she saw her name. "…There it is! wow, its actually in here. Yes! "

Farren read the words aloud ""And the lord Rabbit said to his son, First they must catch you! —Words of House Frith!"" It's actually in the book!"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Robb asked.

"Well Frith isn't considered a ruling house of the north." She admitted.

"That may be, but didn't you hear my father, he said each northern house is just as important as the next." Robb smiled bringing back a grin of her own.

"Have you ever heard the one about lord dire wolf?" Robb asked turning a few pages back.

"No, I haven't." Farren said "But..I'm guessing its about the Starks"

"Whaat, how'd you know, are you sure you never read this.." Robb jested.

Robb traced his fingers over the page that read, _Winter is coming - Words of House Stark._

Farren let her hand grace his with in the pages, "Will you read it to me now?" She asked softly.

His eyes smiled to match his lips, "I'd love to."

"Okay so…"

 _"There was once a time of the eternal summer in the north. It was a time of peace, prosperity, and not a worry in the world. Food was always abundant and all the forrest lords lived happily with no strife. One morning after a big breakfast, lord dire wolf was laying in the glen happy and content. He looked up threw the trees and something caught his eye, suddenly a light fall from the sky above, a shining orb came forth and danced around him and as it did spoke,_

 _"Good lord Dire Wolf, I bring word from the creator of the forrest, the children, and all that is the land. The trees have called upon the king spirit saying they tire and long for rest. The king spirit heard the forrest's plea and will grant the trees what they ask. I have come to you so that you may warn your fellow lords that winter is coming."_

 _Having heard the word of the of the king spirit lord Dire Wolf set out to do as he was bid. He called for all the forest to come to council, in parlay to inform the lords of the foretold prophesy._

 _"The king spirit has come to me with a warning," Said the lord "We must prepare, for winter is coming."_

* * *

Robb paused a moment glancing over with a grin, "Ooo, Sorry Farren your'e not going to like this next part…"

* * *

 _"So…Lord Rabbit was the first to come forward addressing the council saying, "lord Dire Wolf is no one to be trusted. Why should we believe him? He is as sly as lord fox, and as savage as lord badger."_

 _"Yes, why should we trust lord Dire Wolf." Agreed the lords stag and beaver._

 _"Yes indeed," Added lord marmot. "Lord Dire Wolf is no one to be trusted. His word must be false."_

 _The humble forrest lords knew the house of Dire wolves was of their own house's enemy, they had no love for their enemies lord. All of Dire wolf's foes ignored him and went on living easily with out care._

 _Dire Wolf in his honorably ways refused to abandon his mission given to him from the King Spirit. He looked to his own fellows to support his cause._

 _Having hope he went to lord bear and told him, "Winter is coming, no one will heed my warning, so we must prepare. If we do not all the forrest will be left to starve and the land shall suffer."_

 _Bear only yawned, "If winter is coming and the trees will sleep, then I shall sleep along with them."_

 _Holding to on to hope Dire Wolf went to lord Wolverine telling him, "Winter is coming, we must prepare or perish we will."_

 _Lord Wolverine was known to be a cold lord and selfish, turning to Dire wolf he said, "Let winter come, and when it does, I will eat those who can't eat themselves."_

 _But Dire wolf disagreed telling him, "If rabbit and marmot have nothing to eat then they will die, and you will die with out them."_

 _Wolverine only shook his head, "You have a large family my lord, and many mouths to feed. I do not, I care only for myself."_

 _So left on his own to carry out the King's request Dire wolf collected nuts and berries enough for all the animal lords of the north._

 _And as the warning foretold winter had come. The forrest lord's were with out food, so Dire wolf went to them and offered and shared all that he'd collected._

 _The forest lords of the north were grateful naming Dire Wolf their most honorable lord, they looked to him as their provider, leader and liege. From their day untill this the animal lords of the north heeded the word, when lord Dire Wolf told them,_

 _Winter is coming._

Robb's finger tips traced over his house words. "Wow. I feel like a child having just read that…" He admitted fully embarrassed. "First you're telling me I know tenderness and now I'm reading you a children's story. I mean how ridiculous, lord Dire wolf!?….Who comes up with this nonsense, this story is absolutely..…

She kissed him deeply, his lips met hers in return, in a moment she was atop the table among the books. He pulling her to him, letting her legs wrap around his waist. Kissing her as passionately as she did him.

Farren wanted him in every way, not only in body but in mind and heart. Robb did have tenderness inside him, but held the strength of a worthy man. He was born a Stark, being raised to be a man of honor, a man deserving of others faith. To Farren he was the boy that caught her eye, the man that drew her to him. He possessed every quality she wished in a person, withholding a true spirit of which she had been granted sight of.

"Where does your tour lead us next?" She said pecking him on the lips.

His lips left her own to form a smile. "Maybe next I show you my bed chamber."

A soft joyful scoff escaped her, shocked by his wit she grinned. "Well then lead the way."

* * *

 **Hi again! I'm a HUGE fan of native american creation stories and have read a pretty good amount to the point where I started thinking up my own. My favorite stories are always the ones about Coyote because he is the trickster who no one trusts but usually ends up saving the day. I feel like my Dire Wolf story is probably similar to something out there, but I'm not entirely sure. Oh well, hope you enjoyed the chapter. sorry so long!**

 **Thank you all readers, followers and commenters!**

 **The next chapter preview- Farren meets the other Starks, as well as Jon and Theon. She learns some are not as welcoming as the others..**


	10. Winter's Welcome

**This chapter preview - Farren takes archery lessons from true archers. She learns northern welcomes can often be cold, and comes to a realization.**

*This chapter has not had complete grammar revisions. The work is in a the process. Please excuse misspelled words and use. Thank you for your understanding. Even if the **.!.?*)** ,. **: is not perfect.** **The story is still there :)**

* * *

However inappropriate, a tour of Robb's bed chamber was exactly what she wished. Of corse the tour would surely lead right to the bed, under the blankets and finally to a place she'd never gone, but Farren longed for him to take her there. Despite her secret pining, she was pleased as his tour lead to the archery yard. Robb insisted she meet his other brothers, the two young men they found practicing with their bows. In appearance they were close to matching Robb's age, a ruffled brown haired young man stood wearing a smirk on his face. The young man at his side stood slightly shorter, he was darker featured, his sullen eyes correlated perfectly with his seeming natural scowl. In her figuring, Farren knew the two young men were not Robb's true Stark brothers, it was endearing to know Robb considered them greatly, so well that he saw fit to present them accordingly.

"Farren these are my other brothers."

"Jon, Theon, may I introduce lady Farren of house Frith."

Farren half smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"Hello." The dark haired boy said meekly.

"Frith?" The other asked in thought. "Do you have a brother named Hazel?"

"Yes I do." Farren answered. Looking the boy over Farren remembered the young man, Theon was the boy Hazel so easily befriended at the lord's commendation ceremony.

He grinned amused, "Hah, Yeah I remember your brother. So wheres he anyway, didn't you bring him?"

"Mmm," Farren pressed her lips trying to hide her annoyance with the boy's lack of courtesy. "No I'm sorry, I left Hazel at home."

Theon hummed wile jostling threw a rather large barrel of arrows. "So where are you from anyway?"

"I'm from the east, along the Weeping Water river."

"Wheres the Weeping Water river?" The boy asked careless as he nocked an arrow to his bow.

"It's a northern river under Bolton rule." Robb answered, he then turned to Farren, "I remembered I wanted to ask you, have you ever actually been to the Dreadfort?"

Theon huffed in amusement, "That sounds as an inviting place."

"Hmm, I've been there a couple times." Farren confessed as if it were a regrettable act, in truth she had attended court, ceremonies and banquets at the horrid stronghold too often to count, she hated the place, she'd only seen it's great hall and that alone left her careless to see anything further.

"My father and I will be touring the North," Robb informed. "I'll be visiting each region and it's ruling lord's strong hold, and the Dreadfort's on the list."

"Really? You'd be so close to the Warren." Farren said in apprehension. "When will you be traveling?"

"With in the next two moons."

"Perhaps, you might visit the Warren." She said trying to sound casual.

Robb afforded her a pleasing smile, "I would lov—"

"Oh he'll show his face," Theon said cutting him off, "Even if your keep's not on his list, he'll come banging on the gates. I know this one here." He pointed his bow at Robb who swatted it with a grin.

Once more Farren caught Robb's charming smile, "I'd love to see the Warren." He admitted kindly.

"You see there you have it." Theon said eyeing Robb with a returning smirk. "In that case Farren, I wanted to ask you, why are you actually here?"

It seemed like an odd question to answer, "Well, my cousin had fallen Ill and—"

"No, I meant why are you here in Winterfell." Theon said cutting her off.

"Well I'm just vis—"

"What I really meant" Theon said holding a hand out to stop her, "I meant is, why are you here with Robb? You're a pretty girl. Enough that you shouldn't have to waste your time on such a —"

Robb cuffed Theon with fist, causing the smirking boy to laugh heartedly and jostle Robb in return.

Farren smiled then perked up, a branch broke in the near by wood, followed by a shuffling noise coming from the wall, the sound caught the groups full attention. Farren saw a figure pull it's self atop the far stone.

"Seven hells Arya." Jon said smiling as the girl made herself present. Arya sat upon the wall in her mud coated dress. "By the look of you I'm guessing it was the stable boy won this time." Jon pointed out with a chuckle. Farren smiled, she was happy to see the sullen boy Jon laughing, his scowl turned to a grin, it seemed his young sister brought out a lighter mood in him, happier even.

The mud soaked girl dangled down the wall before she dropped to the ground, with a thud and an "Oof" She stood up wobbly and brushed herself off the best she could, "You should have a look at the stable boy before you decide who won."

"The mud, It's even in your braids." Jon pointed out grinning. "I could use a laugh, I hope I'm around when your mother catches sight of you."

"I hope I'm not." Arya said witty taking up a bow herself. "Farren are you an archer?" She asked sounding interested.

"No, no, in fact your brother just taught me the other day."

"Well I could show you a thing or two." Arya said, though she was not conceded, rather her tone read as a wish.

"I would love that, do be my guest." Farren said and the boyish girl grinned.

"No one likes a show off." Robb sang jesting with the young girl.

"No one likes an oaf either." Arya retorted and she dipped her hand in the barrel of arrows. Flinging a full quiver around her Arya reached for an arrow, she nocked it, drew back and let it loose. The bolt met its mark with little effort, Arya walked the length of the targets, hitting each one by one in their center mark, at the final target she slightly missed her point, she let out a "Huff" at the sight. "I could have gotten the last, but the mud slicked my fingers." She said disappointed.

"Wow, I have no doubt" Farren said smiling. She deeply admired the young girl's spirit. "Your'e skill is very impressive."

"You shouldn't encourage her." Farren looked up when a soft girlish voice traveled across the yard, it's sound also caught Arya's attention, she scowled in the direction it came. Farren hadn't noticed the cherry haired girl sitting under the bridge, not until that moment. The girl sat alone on a bench, her hand pulling a quick needle threw the knitting held in her lap. Farren thought it odd that no one sought to introduce her, maybe the others did'nt realize the girl was near. In fact the others ignored the girl's comment, possibly as it was directed at Farren. The whole group short of Arya seemed not to hear her altogether, not a one looking back they simply continued with their sport.

"Don't listen to my sister, she's stupid." Arya said, still glaring daggers at the red head who in turn scowled right back. Farren felt sorrow for the girl, after all she sat alone from her other siblings. With Arya turning back to her archery, Farren seized an opportunity to greet the lonely girl, she crossed the yard meeting the her with a soft smile, receiving a subtle one in return.

"May I sit with you." Farren asked kindly eyeing an opening on the wooden bench.

The girl answered with a nod.

"I'm Farren." Farren said.

"Sansa Stark." The girl replied.

Farren's gaze fell upon the girl's stitching, "Thats lovely." She complemented. Moments after having said it Farren realized it was true, the girl's work was exceedingly well done. "Really it is."

"Thank you." The girl said warmly. "Do you stitch?"

"Yes, but not well Im afraid." Farren said shuffling into her seat.

Sansa hummed, "Well, I've just completed an entire banner, it's hanging in the great hall."

"The large one of the dire wolf?" Farren asked having remembered seeing it.

"Of corse." The girl answered. Farren thought the girls tone read as too obvious, as if it were to simple a question to have been asked.

Already she could read this Stark girl, easily, surely her grandfather Blackaver would see the young maiden Sansa as nothing other than perfect. The lacy girl had all the makings of an ideal lady. Lord Blackaver would be proud to call this girl his granddaughter. The dire wolf banner was exquisite indeed. Farren never cared for stitching, crafting was quiet and far too boring, the worst of all it being insisted upon her to do so. Now however she could feasibly see herself stitching a Stark sigil, one for Robb of corse, only it would turn out horrible and probably resemble a mangy dog rather than a dire wolf.

"So, what is your house sigil?" Sansa asked curiously wile pulling her needle.

"The black rabbit of House Frith." Farren said with a smile of pride.

The girl kept her eyes solely on her work, "A rabbit should be easy enough."

"Yes I suppose, only I often struggle with the ears, they always end up to thin and pointy."

"My little sister has yet to master curves as well." Sansa informed cooly.

Farren felt a thin embarrassment, _Did she just insult me?_ She thought perplexed. Sansa was younger than herself and compared her to a girl younger still. It didn't matter really, in fact it was true. It didn't matter that is unless the girl purposely meant it to be a slight, but what would prompt her to such a thing? Farren brushed off her bitter thoughts, "Yeah, curves can be a bit tricky." She said locking and unlocking her fingers casually as she spoke.

"Um…I rather like your dress." Farren said kindly to liven the seeming fallen mood.

"Thank you, I made it as well." Sansa said, she finally smiled, Farren was pleased to see her with lighter features.

"That's impressive, I could never do that." Farren said, in effort to keep making weight.

"Why not?" Sansa asked, "Do you not practice your stitching? Don't tell me you waste your time with arrows." The girl said unpleasantly, practically rolling her eyes.

"No, actually I just learned how to shoot an arrow yesterday."

"Oh." Sansa hummed in rumination.

By the cold returns Farren realized Sansa didn't to take to her company. The reason for it left her puzzled, perhaps the girl was just openly cold, it was an odd suggestion given she was a member of the kindest family Farren had ever been acquainted with. Obviously the girl didn't fare well with her younger sister, the sour glances the two exchanged was a conformation, both authentic. The two sisters reminded Farren of Hazel and Verek, only she couldn't picture the Stark girls beating on one another as her brothers did. The Stark sisters were each others her full opposite, Farren considered perhapps her friendless with Arya might have left her tainted in Sansa's eyes, maybe it was enough for the girl to develop a kind of prejudice against her. Regardless Sansa was Robb's sister and therefor Farren kindled hope to win her as a friend.

"I wish I was better with my stitching, but I'm always pricking my fingers." Farren said smiling.

"I used to prick myself when I was young, but I've learned my way around a needle." Sansa said sounding careless.

"Your stitches are perfect really." Farren said, she made an effort to view the girl's work close enough without over invading her. Sansa had in her lap a darning of a dark colored stag to mirror a golden lion. Farren thought it odd the girl chose to combine both the sigil's of the king and the queen. "Why chose a lion and stag?" She asked curious.

"Well I hope to stitch my lord husbands finery someday." Sansa admitted in confidence. "Not to say I will marry the prince, but its honorable to stitch the sigil of ones liege lord."

 _My grandfather would trade me for you without question._ Farren thought nodding to agree with the girl. "Perhaps I'll try my hand at a dire wolf in that suggestion." Farren said.

"You're name, Frith, it's not of a ruling northern house, it's of a minor house." Sansa pointed out. "That makes my father not your direct liege lord but rather your liege lord's liege."

The girl was correct, House Stark ruled over House Frith but not directly, House Bolton was her families ruling house. Farren thought it unnecessary for Sansa to see fit in making the trifle detail known.

"So, what is the sigil of your liege lord?" Sansa asked in turn.

 _Its honorable to stitch the sigil of ones liege lord._ Sansa's words repeated in her mind, Farren would happily sacrifice the honor of stitching anything with the flayed man on it. _Eeh, so ugly._ She bit her lip a moment. "Oh, I hate the sigil of my ruling house." She said brushing off the answer.

"And that is?" Sansa said her eyes still without an upward glance.

"The sigil of house Bolton." Farren said.

"Oh. Would you remind me of that house's sigil, I can't recall from my lessons." Sansa asked cooly.

 _Thats because you waist your mind's space on stitching._ Farren thought bitterly feeling a viable annoyance, she had notion the girl knew the answer and continued to press on regardless.

"Well, if you picture all the sigils you ever learned of, it's probably the ugly one." She said in a jesting effort.

"The flayed man." Sansa said simply.

"Yes, that's the Bolton's sigil." _The one thats shoved in my face at home enough that I scarcely need you to do the same._ Farren thought regrettably bitter. Continuing the conversation now she felt would be a remiss.

Sansa retained focus on her stag and lion, pulling her needle high to form another stitch. "Other than the head, the sigil of the flayed man hasn't many curves, I'm sure you'll find it easy."

Farren forced a smile upon her lips. "Well, maybe one day I'll gain such a talent as yours." She said trying for a kind tone. "It was nice meeting you Sansa."

"Yes, you as well." Sansa said, her eyes withheld as she pulled her needle once more. "Keep practicing."

 _Thanks for the advise, I'll send you a darning of the flayed man once I'm as perfect as you._ Farren thought strolling back threw yard, the girl's vinegary demeanor left a bitter taste in Farren's mouth, it was bothersome to be treated so coldly, Farren decided she'd hold nothing against the girl, but felt disappointment in her failed attempt to fashion a friend. Farren eyed Sansa once more as she walked, she let out a " huff," turning her gaze around an unknown face startled her, she stopped short close to colliding with a women.

"Hello."

She halted suddenly before by a women with hair and eyes easily to match Robb's.

"Robb who's this? I don't believe I've ever met you." The women asked with a small shake of the head.

"Mother. This is Farren."

"Farren…?" The women asked in wait.

"Frith, its a pleasure lady Stark." Farren greeted her smiling, she thought the women's voice warm, but there was something uninviting in her tone.

"The pleasure is mine lady Farren…Where is it you come from my lady?"

"From the east, I'm only visiting the valley, I've been staying with my family of house Aurum.

"Oh, yes, in lord Crewyn's lands. If you may remind me, Is House Frith sworn to Crewyn as well?"

"No my lady, my house is sworn to House Bolton."

"Oh I see. Yes of corse." The women said smiling.

"Mother, I've been giving Farren a tour of the castle."

"He's done a fine job." Farren said meeting his eye. "Robb showed me your sept my lady, its quite beautiful."

"Well it's nice you got him to visit it, I've been trying his entire life to get him in there more often." She said joyfully.

The women's gaze fell beyond them, something stole away her kind smile, leaving in it's place a look of pure shock. "Oh for gods sakes…Excuse me a minute." She said and trudged a few paces forward, "For the sake of the seven Arya! look at you! Go on, go have a bath drawn for yourself immediately. You look a disgrace."

"It's not that bad." Arya called over happily.

"Arya right now." The mother demanded.

"Errg, Fine."

The three older boys laughed heartily, Robb held a fist to his mouth, his eyes met Farren's smiling.

Arya stormed past, "Here." She said hopelessly and handed the bow off to Farren. A voice called out after her, "Don't forget the soap." It was Jon who yelled laughing, the others roared, Arya looked over her shoulder with a grin of her own, "I'll soap you!"

Farren turned lady Stark, the women had recollected herself with friendly smile. Farren noticed it was with great effort, perhaps the women was embarrassed by her daughter.

"It was fine meeting you lady Farren." She said to be on her way.

"You as well my lady." Farren exchanged a final grin with her before returning to her archery with the others.

Back in place she took up the arrow happily, it would be quite some time before she'd use a weapon again and wished to make the best of practiceing. Such "nonsense" would not be tolerated at the Warren, so she'd enjoy it while given the chance. Farren loosed another arrow, it flew smoothly but planted far from the target's center. She nocked a second drew it and loosed swiftly only to find her aim was even further off.

"Farren, relax your bow arm." Jon kindly instructed, "And keep your shoulder a bit further up, yes, just like that."

Farren headed his teaching, nocked, drew and loosed, as the bolt came to a halt she gasped. The arrow hit it's the target's dead center, Farren stared at her accomplishment wide eyed, her mouth fell ajar in disbelief.

"Very nice shot." Jon said impressed.

"Thank you! She said joyfully and resisting the urge to hop in excitement. "Robb did you see…where'd he go?

Farren gazed about, her eyes thoroughly scoured the yard, but Robb had vanished. "I think he took off past the bridge." Theon informed.

Searching for Robb lead her from the archery yard, she made her way under the bridge and along a wooden platform where she stopped abruptly, catching caught the muttering of voices, they came whispering around the corner. Left out of sight Farren listened closely.

"Of all the girls you could have brought here, you choose one who's family is sworn to House Bolton."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Do her parents know she's here?"

"Of corse. Well her mother at least, does that matter?"

"Only her mother? Robb, Bolton sworn lord's tend to be very backwards men, following close to tradition, even your father would tell you so. That girls own father surely would not approve of you courting his daughter unsupervised, especially without even having met you."

"We're not unsupervised, were surrounded by people."

"Robb you need to take her home."

"Father seemed to have no care in her being here."

"Your father does not realize what is going on between the two of you, I saw the way you looked at that girl, surely she looks at you the same."

"Mother, you only just met her, we have had no relations other than common courtesies."

"Why is she here Robb?"

"She wanted to see Winterfell, so I offered to show her."

"Robb you should be more careful with your feelings, both your feelings. You must think before you act."

"I am being careful, Farren is only an acquaintance, once she leaves I won't make an effort to see her again."

"Good and that's how it needs to be."

Farren let her back slant against the wall, her heart sank. She knew the women was right, she needed to leave. Robb was the son of the warden of the north and she without compare. Hope had made a fool out of her, she was out of place among the Starks. Heedlessly Farren headed for the stables. Robb may have felt something for her, but it didn't matter, she was setting herself up to be hurt. Her own mother said the same in her past week's lecture, Farren recalled the words quite well, _"I know this is hard to hear Farren, but you shouldn't raise your hopes in something that could never be. It will never be Farren, Robb Stark will only hurt you."_ Her eyes glossed as she threw a saddle over her mare. Why was she in Winterfell, her home was back along the weeping water, where the forests where ruled by demons and foul whispers. _I was a simple child, believing in what could never be, a minute here longer will only hurt more._ Farren towed her mare to the keep's barrier calling to the sentry on the gateway.

"Please open the gates, I'd like to pass."

"M'lady? Are you leaving with no escort? Where will you be off to?

"Yes. I'm going Home."

 _A rabbit doesn't belong among wolves._

* * *

 _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )( )(_ _)( )(_


	11. A ride of freedom

This story's title has changed to better suit the story, the icon will also soon be changed, so follow or bookmark if you are a dedicated reader. :) I don't want you to miss it! Thank you to all followers, readers and commenters! Thanks so much to xxGreywind my Beta reader for her help on this chapter and her long support of this story. Please don't forget to comment at the end. :)

 **This chapter preview- Robb catches Farren in an effort of reassurance. Farren tries something new. She finds something hidden in the woods.**

* * *

Farren saw herself defeated in an emotional war. The wind freed her cheeks of tears. With swift hooves, her mare rattled the ground, drawing up wet mud and clumps of grass. Having tasted a day in Winterfell was foolish. She had teased herself too well, and her mind grew weak.

 _I was chasing a Stark of Winterfell, and I never realized it. Otherwise, I'd of reasoned with the truth. I'm a fool. I could never be with Robb Stark. I am nothing compared to a Stark._

Stark they considered a great house of Westeros. How could a daughter of a lesser lord marry into the noble elite?

 _Marriage?_ Farren cringed with the word in mind. The notion was for thoughts a senseless maiden. Love was no valid reason for two to wed. Houses join for political reasons and never out of balance. Frith did not match Stark. Frith did even not match Bolton.

 _Robb Stark will be paired up with a girl from a great house, one whose name is Lannister or Tyrell. A lady with a future filled with prospects._

Farren's mind tangled in sorrow. She rode through the moors, with a wish to disappear in the fog. She jerked her rains suddenly, a shout echoed in her wake. She looked over her shoulder, seeing Robb was tailing her, his voice drew up behind, with a thunder of pounding hooves,

"Farren wait!"

The sound compelled her to kick to her mare for speed. An effort in vain, as Robb's voice was soon with her. She pulled back as her horse collided with its pursuer. The animals hit side to side in a tangle of legs. With a huff, the mare trudged backward cautious before a stallion wall.

"Let me pass Robb,"

"Why?" Robb looked confused, his horse paced about, dancing with the mare. "I asked the guard, and he said you were going home. I don't understand what happened. Why would you just leave Farren? You didn't even tell any-"

"I can't stay here!" Cutting him off left Farren breathless "I can't stay with you. I can no longer keep your company, so please, let me pass."

"Wh..." His lips hovered ajar as if holding on to the word. Lowering His dark eyebrows creased in a look of bewilderment. With a tremble of the head, he released his pause, "What?"

In pain, the ache of honesty escaped Farren. "I left because you are perfect Robb. You come from a perfect family with a perfect name."

 _Perfect._ Farren sighed in a bitter flutter as she glared at Robb. Perfect, perfect was the best word to define the Stark family, the only word. Heavy hearted Farren examined Robb with a mock astonishment. "It's a miracle I even came to know you. I should not associate with you, my lord. You are too perfect, a son of House Stark indeed." It sounded mean when spoken, but she bestowed no hostility.

Robb looked wholly confused. He merely stared forward, as if his mind was churning. He had evidently not expected her answer to relate to him, nor have an offensive nature. He looked at Farren, squinting his eyes as if to see her better, "What are you talking about!?"

His questioning hand parted the air above him as he exhaled a bitter breath. Lifting two fingers he touched them firmly the chest, "Farren, I am not perfect, and My family, you've known...Farren, you've known them for a day!" He turned his head with a sigh before his eyes rebound to hers, "Having the name Stark does not make you perfect. I am far from perfect."

The mare exhaled impatience as Farren fought back tears, She recalled the conversation between mother and son. Robb's words resounded in her ears, his voice so clear as the spoken word. _Farren is only an acquaintance, once she leaves I won't make an effort to see her again._ The memory rushed her full of despair. It was a sad feeling she hid behind a stone expression. Her eyes held high and stern, "I overheard you and your mother, Robb."

The account startled Robb, leaving him shocked and dazed. "Uht." With a rasp, his mouth fell, but he withheld a response.

"Your mother is right, It's not worth arguing," Farren said.

Robb gave way to her with a frown. Farren held her chest long and tight and her back straight, arranging her mare to run. She shivered when Robb gripped her elbow from behind.

"Wait," His request faded to concern.

She had wished to ignore him, to shake him off and ride on. Refusing the impulse She complied, Robb rounded his horse to look at her, "What you overheard, it was not..."

"You agreed with her," Farren cut him off.

"I said what my mother wished to hear," Robb answered calmly, "Whatever I said, whatever upset you, I didn't mean it." His features cast blue emotion, and he rubbed his neck, letting his hand fall with a sigh. "Farren, I may have spent but a few weeks with you, but I know my feelings are genuine. I wouldn't lie to you." He paused as his stare abandoned her. "If you don't feel the same, then I'll let you go." With a shuttered breath His eyes leaped to hers once more, "But I don't wish to. I don't want to let you go."

She held her breath lost in his stare. His eyes blue as the ocean united to hers and they confirmed his words as sincere.

Farren bowed her head in thought. Robb admitted he would make no effort to see her once she'd gone, yet here he was before her. His actions came not determined by a courtesy of farewell but by something unrestricted. She realized Robb Stark did as he desired. He would love her if wished. No decree would not bind him. Robb was a man who left matters to his heart's choosing. She knew that now.

Though she felt foolish, Farren did not see it in his eyes. Her sorrow vanished. "I know Robb," She cooed softly. "I know now. Your feelings match my own." She smiled as his soft nod healed her.

All seemed right when they started back toward Winterfell. Their horses walked side by side as if they too had made amends. Farren felt exalted with the recovery of Robb's character. His smile and warmth. She glanced at the horizon. The sky painted the clouds in a glow, white and sheen.

Turning back with a smile, she noticed Robb observing her, he lifted an eyebrow and hummed, "You know, given your head start my lady, you were pretty easy to catch."

Farren pressed her lips in embarrassment. "I am afraid I disgraced my house's words," She admitted with the words of House Frith in mind. _First they must catch you._ Words were just words to Farren, but it seemed to dishonor her ancestors not to live up to them.

"You riding in that dress was why I caught you," Robb said, he shifted in his saddle for a better gaze as Farren tilted her head,

"My dress?"

"Sure," Robb smiled mildly, "It slowed you down,"

Farren grinned at him, a look of wit and spirit graced her face, "Can you honestly admit my lord, have you ever ridden in a dress?"

Robb returned with a good laugh, "I can't say I have."

"I felt I never rode faster," Farren shrugged the question, "How would my dress make a difference?"

"Have you ridden in nothing else?"

"Um, no, I suppose not,"

Robb beamed at her, his sapphire eyes gleamed as he shifted toward her. "In that case my lady, you've never truly ridden...I believe that's something we must change."

Winterfell was now discomforting. She did not wish to feel it nor be there but found strength in curiosity. Robb said he had something for her to wear that would change the way she rode. As he led her to his bedchamber, her eyes darted to everyone and everything. She begged the old gods that Lady Stark hadn't seen them. Desperate to avoid her company. Farren saw clear the women did not approve of her in Winterfell. To run into Robb's mother now would be awkward, especially in the situation.

 _Dear gods, if someone noticed us._ Farren half muttered as they neared the corridors end. With a click of the hinge, Robb opened his chamber door. The pleasing scent of spice and incense came with the room's welcome. Trinkets sat on his cases and walls, a long sword and a pair of daggers, two carved figures of the Worrier and Smith. Draping the far stone wall hung an impressive Dire wolf banner, flawlessly crafted. Most likely his sister's work. Farren had smiled before her gaze shifted, Robb's large bed was inviting, adorned with a gray fur cover and a wolf pelt on top. She took sat and sank into comfort. Running her hand and fingers over what felt like velvet. Robb knelt before a wooden wardrobe with his hands shifting through the bottom drawer.

"Here they are," He said pulling out a few garments. He tossed them to Farren. She unfolded what fell in her lap, then held up a pair of brown leather pants and a jerkin top. Farren looked the pants over, then held them before her legs for compare. The bottom hems lined up perfect at the waist and ankles.

Farren raised a brow as she studied what she held. The garments were far too small to be Robb's, "I..? Who's are even these?"

"Mine." Robb grinned. "From when I was much younger, they about your size. Give them a try," Robb urged.

Farren hummed and surveyed the outfit meant for a man. The pants were a burgundy brown with a jerkin lacing to tie the front. The jerkin top, long sleeved and the inside lined with fur. The leather was finally stitched and sleek at the touch. They were garments made for a young noble boy rather than a simple farmer's britches.

"You want me to wear these?" Farren tipped her head, "Really?"

"Arya wishes to wear nothing but. I think she intended to claim these, but she already has a several pair."

"Your father allows her to wear them?"

"He probably figures it's easier than arguing," Robb smirked.

Farren hummed in thought, debating whether try on the masculine garb. The notion of dressing like a man did not bother her; it just went against what society imposed, mostly her grandfathers rearing. A respectable lady would never dress as a man. Farren sighed, Her grandfather would surely scold her, or even punish her for improper behavior.

"I don't think I could," She admitted then pressed her lips, turning her head with a sigh, "You would probably hate them on me."

"I would love to see you in them," Robb said with a glow in his eyes. "If we go riding, truly riding. You'll never keep up in your skirts." He moved behind Farren and wrapped his arms around her waist. Holding the pants close to her hips.

"Umm.." She hummed, her lips clasped in a debate.

"Come on." Robb bantered with a grin.

With a deep inhale, Farren thought of her grandfather chiding her. But with a smirk she remembered the man was hundreds of miles away. "I suppose, maybe I can give them a try."

As She began to loosen her dress, her look displaced, With a peek over her shoulder, she saw Robb smile. "Are you going to watch?" She grinned playfully.

Robb's broad smile answered her naturally. "I can try not to watch," He jested with a boyish smirk, "But I can't promise anything."

It didn't take long for him not to succeed. His hands gripped her hips thoroughly. He pressed his body against her, grazing up from behind. Wandering palms followed her curves causing her dress to slip and expose her figure. Her skin tingled as the fabric slid toward the floor.

He turned her to his kiss, as he shuffled her in his desired course, the center of the bed. Farren hummed as the fur caressed her back and legs. Robb eagerly tore at the laces of his jerkin collar, opening them to reveal his sturdy build chest. Farren sat on her arms for a better view. Her knees naturally pressed together as her nerves took hold. She wanted Robb with every source of the attraction. He was the vision of a superior man, a dominate son of the north. His figure achieved the appearance of a master sculpture's work. Perfect indeed.

His shuttered breath begged her to ease an overwhelming lust. He stared at her breathing as if to take off in a race, then grinnd. "Gods. Can you stay there forever?"

A giggle escaped her as she settled in love with him flirting half naked. Robb had not bothered with his pants when trudged across the bed, meeting her in two strides. Hovering, His arms supported his chest with no effort. He hummed as he tasted her lips, his tongue caressing in savored movement. Her excitement added to an apprehension, knowing what was to come and her legs gave way, opening to cradle him close between. His hand bedded under her neck, as his kiss sealed into a vibration and issued with a pleasure filled grunt.

She wondered why he hadn't untied his pants. The fabric at his groin skimmed between her legs. She knew his cock lay hard beneath. It brushed her like a hard rock. Feeling its length and size caused her to exhale a shaken breath. She was ready for her maiden's pain. The price small in regarding the pleasure that would follow.

Her lips parted as He grind his cock inside her thighs, rubbing upward with his pleasured hum. Robb yet to reveal what he rubbed between her legs. Her mouth ran dry in wait, knowing her maidenhood was close to its end. He could have it. She wanted him to have her. But he had yet to advance. With a quick beating heart, Farren made a timid decision, she would help him along, with a hint of desire. Closing her eyes, she slipped her hands to his groin and began to untie the laces. Robb hummed as she pulled at the strings.

"EMmm," He paused and released a hum. The sound issued as a seeming halt. Farren blinked, opening her eyes as Robb's fingers clasped her hand. Her knuckles grazed his bare chest as he pull it to her collar. "Mmm," With closed eyes, Robb shook his head no. He could not say it, though His breath shuttered to a reluctant whisper, "We shouldn't."

In the confusion, Farren studied his face. His eyes kept closed with a hesitant air. She wanted to ask why he stopped her, but the words would not part her lips.

 _Maybe he has never?_ She considered, but she could not speculate any such a man as a maid, a subject they never discussed. He knew not as She. But Robb was ready for her, his body yearned, still he denied the urge. He sighed, hovered above her looking down wary. Farren paused, She closed her eyes. The sound of Winterfell slipped through the window panes. She heard a smith's hammer hit with a pang. A dog barked. A female voice called out in ordinary class speech, mingled amidst clucking hens.

Farren opened her eyes to Robb gazing down with a soft expression. "I'm sorry," He murmured. Lust had merely ruled both, their thirst for one another blocked all else out.

Farren pressed in a sigh, _What were we doing?_

It would have been a mistake, with consequences of shame and embarrassment. Farren understood. Her ears told her Winterfell was not the place. Robb saved her from disgracing her name. If Winterfell had known or even speculated they had laid together, She would have felt humiliated. Their intimacy was inappropriate at his home, surrounded by so many and his family alike.

 _They would have labeled me that harlot Frith girl._ Farren thought as she closed her eyes and shook her head.

Disappointment took Robb's expression. Farren attained solace knowing the situation had not depressed her alone. With a tender touch, She ran her fingers along Robb's jaw line, resting a hand on his cheek. "It's okay," She whispered, her mouth drew a small smile. Robb took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for an awaited kiss. He had the best judgment, better than her own. The rarest strength for a man, resistance. Robb wanted her, but he could not dishonor her. The notion added a stone to what he kept building in Farren's heart.

Farren's rational beliefs thanked Robb as they started down to the stables. Her lack judgment came close to making that walk painful, and far more awkward to be assured. She had dressed in the clothing Robb wished her to wear. The garb gave her an over awareness and sufficient embarrassment. The leather gripped her body so tight it left her feeling exposed. As if she were naked, and all eyes in Winterfell fixed on her, everyone in judgment. Farren sighed, She could hear her brother's laughter. The sound followed an image of her grandfather's firm scowl.

In the courtyard, She passed a window and glimpsed of the attire. _At least, they don't look horrible._ Farren reasoned.

Robb glanced at her. "They look good by the way. Hows the fit?"

His mind read her so well, seeing her unstable self-conscious and affording reassurance. Farren smiled with a shrug, "They're a bit snug in the shins but other than that, pretty good…" She ran her hands across her face, dropping them with a sigh "Honestly...Do I look ridiculous?"

Robb grinned brightly. "You look beautiful my lady." He shook his head with a pointed finger, "You have a tendency to do that don't you." With a smile, Farren nudged his chest. Flirting was quite mind easing.

Being amid the horses helped as well. The animals stilled anxiety and Farren gave her mare a good pat. _Horse's don't judge._ She thought. Her mind grew interested in how the new attire would affect her riding. Mounting her horse, Farren looked over to find Robb with a fist full of reins. He smiled, "I hope you are ready to handle the wind."

Farren could not gather how fast her mare bolted. The horse ran faster than any horse She had ever ridden. Robb was right, in her new attire, She could handle the horse considerably well. Easily keeping in motion with the mare with her shins gripped tightly. The animals head bobbed in a rapid flow, falling and rising in haste. Truly riding, as Robb called it, had delivered a sense of freedom. As The wind blew wild and endless, Farren's eyes to teared up in the gale. Exhilarated, She took in a breath of chilling wind. It filled her lungs with life. She fought not to cheer in excitement. Giving in to the spirit, She yelled out. Her wail of liveliness came amidst Robb's hearty laugh.

As She yanked the reins, the mare hammered the ground, with a pace fading to a leisurely gallop. Farren sat back in her saddle to rest. She felt the horse catching its breath below her, its chest moving her legs. The mare huffed with a flare of the nose. With a few firm pats on the neck, Farren praised her.

When Robb cantered up behind Farren greeted him with an excited grin. Robb looked on gleefully, and Farren saw his chestnut curls were windblown and his cheeks rosy red. She tittered a small laugh at the sight. Then wondered how much her hair had suffered. Running her fingers through her long dark mane took out a few knots.

"That was honestly incredible," She admitted, "I never knew I could ride so fast. I thought my brother was a better rider than me, and now I understand how he does it."

Robb surveyed at her attire, top to tail. "Well, he should never challenge you in those. I must say, my lady, I do believe you've lived up to your house words. I sure couldn't catch you." Robb chuckled with a raised brow and friendly grin. "And actually, I tried!"

Farren paired his smile, "I believe you caught me weeks ago my lord." She flirted with a found opportunity.

Her show of wit made Robb laugh, he nodded, "I feel I can admit the same."

Farren smiled, her eyes met his, blue and bright as day. She quietly enchanted him. He beamed at her in an enamored trance. Then broke free of the captivation with a hearty sigh. "Town is close by. Please tell me you're hungry," He said with a rub of his hands. Farren happily nodded, from the enthusiastic ride she was indeed.

They rode down a deer trail through the wood, a shortcut Robb claimed. The path was worn down to the dirt, making it easy for the horses. Farren breathed in the forest smells. The scent of Rivermoss and the sound of rushing water from a source unseen. She perked up, her ear caught the crack of a snapping stick. In the brush, the rump of a tawny deer passed behind a large tree. Farren smiled as arose a spotted fawn. On spindly legs, it strutted after its mother.

From above, a bird sang a three note melody. Farren glanced up to explore the treetops. Squinting she searched. Her eyes gaped open, coming upon leaves the color of blood. A streak of crimson mingled in with evergreen. The contrasted hues were beautiful in the afterglow of the sun.

Farren followed the branches that bore the red leaves, her eyes traveled slowly down a massive trunk until they fixed upon a carved face.

 _This is a god tree._ Thoroughly hidden by the wood, they would have passed it without her wondering eyes. The Wierwood concealed its red leaves within the canopy as it did its trunk amidst the thick forest. The tree's face smiled as if it was comfortable in its sheltered home. The well hid Weirwood bore obscurely as if its location was left untold. It was odd the base had no offerings, not a candle or carved trinket.

"Is that an unknown God tree?" Farren asked Robb with her eyes stuck to the tree.

Robb leaned back in his saddle for a better glance, "It could very well be. I take this trail often, and I've never seen anyone around. Probably only local smallfolk and villagers know of that Wierwood, if any."

The forest spoke of the same rush of water. The sound provided a stable peace, a tranquility of immediate comfort. The tree revealed itself even greater further along the trail. Exceeding the forest the Wierwood dominated its neighboring trees. Great roots claimed a small glen. Light decorated the grass with the color of limes yet to ripen. Farren thought the tree's face was one bringing of ease, inviting believers to prayer. Red draping leaves were a silent reminder of the heart that grew at Castle Warren. The tree Farren held dear. She took salvation too often in the Warren's god's wood. It was a uniquely quiet place within the castle's walls. Her Lord grandfather was a man of temper. He was constantly yelling. A horrible sound undoubtedly combine by her brother's cries and pleas for forgiveness. Somehow they always did something wrong. At the Warren, the lord's grace came in the form of a strap or lash. To Farren, her god's wood was a sanctuary from all that darkened life. Under it's red leaves, she'd reveal her hidden hopes, those settled deep in her heart. There She would pray for her brothers and calmer days.

Farren glanced over her shoulder for a parting look at the Wierwood. Many hidden God trees likely existed, but the sight was rare. Unusual to be so tucked away and seemingly unknown. Such was extraordinary and so held dear within the faith. Silently Farren called to the old gods with a last glance and a silent wish.

 _Grant all my dreams to be true._

Sticks and undergrowth snapped under her horse's hooves as the trail grew thin. Farren closed her eyes as a leafy branch dusted across her cheek. The mare trampled through the scrubs until the trail let out, the forest opened to a field and an actual road. Winding down the hill rested the village. A detailed design of buildings formed a great sized town, at a distance of no more than a few miles ride.

"I'm excited," Farren said as she took in the view, the evening sun shown orange, painting the town in a coral glow. "I haven't been to town for a long time."

"Are there not many towns in the Bolton ruled regions?" He asked lightly.

"There are, but not at big as this ahead. I'd say the only one to compare is the Weeping Water town by the Dreadfort."

"Eh," Robb's lips cast a bitter flavor. "The Dreadfort. I can't believe I'll be visiting it in a few months."

Farren remembered Robb and his father would be traveling within a short time. With recollection Robb also said he would love to visit the Warren. In happy thought, She pressed her lips to hide her smile.

Robb exhaled. "luckily we will not be staying the night. I've heard one too many tales." Robb raised his brow with a huff. "I can not say I am looking forward to spending an evening with Roose Bolton either. That man always seems a bit off."

Farren hummed. "That filthy tale about Lord Bolton," She shook her head, "It aggravates me that my brother admitted he believes it. Hazel's always horrible." She said lightly, "But I'm surprised your lord father didn't track down whoever first told that tale and punished them for spreading a nasty rumor of his bannerman."

"What rumor?" Robb met with a lifted brow.

Farren tilted her head. Everyone knew that story. Had Robb honestly never heard it? Smallfolk along the Weeping Water were indeed a quiet sort. Though only ever in whispers, they still spoke. Farren hadn't assumed the whispers were not widespread. She felt utterly stupid, chattering on and bringing up a ban tale. Her grandfather would be furious.

...Huuha, Lovely ramble Farren. She muddled over her stupidity then blinked at Robb.

He shook his head with a hum of judgment, "My father has never had a problem with Roose Bolton, but I know he keeps a sharp eye on the Lord of the Dreadfort. If there's any cause for concern, he will look into it." Rob paused to meet her gaze casually, "So tell me, what was this offensive thing you heard?"

Farren's eyes grew as her mouth clamped shut, concealing her lips. _He knows nothing of Lord Bolton and that Millar's wife. Perhaps neither does his father._

To tell him was fearsome. She would shock Robb with the disturbing tale, telling him her homeland's ruling Lord hung a Miller and raped his wife. Farren knew the story had no truth and to speak ill of her Liege Lord was very wrong. Her mind snapped quickly under strain.

"I.," She muttered, taking a second to concentrate. "I guess, from what my brother told me, they say the Bolton's used to flay men and they still keep skins in a room in the Dreadfort, and Lord Bolton keeps it a secret. Silly yes? I don't think its true. "Farren carefully lied.

 _Everyone knows that old story...Please know that story._ She prayed glancing at to Robb.

"Oh yes, that's right, oh, I've heard that," Robb quivered, "There's the reason I'm dreading having to visit the Dreadfort." Robb paused, his mouth moved soft and slowly, "Dreading the Dreadfort..." As he trailed off, Farren noticed him silently repeating his words, as if he realized the humor after the thought. Tickled, He grinned with a scratch of the head, "Well, I'd say The Dreadfort fits Roose Bolton. The man's voice is alone disturbing," Robb turned wide-eyed with open hands, "And he never blinks! Honestly, I have never witnessed that man blink."

Farren smirked, "I heard my grandfather would lick the mud off Lord Bolton's boots if the man ordered him to."

Robb's eyes grinned with a solid chuckle. He ran a hand over his mouth to relinquish the laugh, "Ho, That's true loyalty. I highly doubt Roose Bolton would lick the mud off my father's boots, but I would pay a good coin to see it."

"My mother would spend more." Farren softly slurred. Robb heard, and he hummed "Does she not like the man?"

"No." Farren sighed deeply, "In truth, I think my mother hates Lord Bolton."

Robb pressed his lips to a side and raised a curious brow, "Why?"

"I feel I can't say. I do not know, but she behaves oddly around him. She tries to avoid him. It's almost as if she can't withstand the man's presence."

Robb grinned, "Well, can one honestly blame her?"

Farren mimicked his expression with a softer smile, but her brow furrowed. Often it was an mixed feeling. She couldn't understand why Lord Bolton had earned his reputation of an unseemly man. She'd never saw it in him. Her Liege Lord had always been kind mannered to her.

Farren ran her hand through her horses mane and faced Robb with a soft leaf honesty, "People think Lord Bolton is a cold man, but I, I just don't see it." She uttered softly. "In fairness, I feel sorry for him. I see it sad really. The man has no real family."

Other than that nasty bastard he was forced to claim. In good sense Farren held the thought.

She saw Robb's eyes raise in question, "I thought Lord Bolton married a Lady of House Ryswell. Did he not have a son with her?"

With the mention, Farren's gaze fell to her saddle, she traced the thin leather trim. "He did, but they both passed years back. His son Domeric, He died of a sudden illness, and Lady Bethany died so shortly after. Lord Bolton lost his only true son and his wife. He may not be the type to show his emotions, but losing one's family," Farren paused, she blinked away pity, "How could that not destroy a someone? If Lord Bolton is truly cold-hearted, I understand why. I feel the world has been cruel to him."

Farren looked at Robb. His gaze had fallen, and He pondered quietly. A light sorrow succeeded his usual bright demeanor. "I suppose I should have known that," Robb admitted. "My father tells me I should stay familiar with our vessel Lords, know who they are or who they have married. He knows our bannermen quite well, but I find it hard to keep up with them all. When the time comes, I will defiantly have to make a better effort."

When he looked at her Farren heartened him with a tender smile. "I'm sure you will know them all very well." She encouraged kindly.

The town gate lifted the somber mood. The energy of the large village had Farren anticipating an experience. She noticed Robb's excitement grew to suit her own. Through the town gate, a friendly voice rang down from above.

"Good evening to you M'lord! Nice to see you again so sudden."

Farren's gazed upward. The setting sun hindered her sight with a bright orange beam. Her horse shifted, and the glare slipped behind the wall. On the stone battlements of the town archway stood a sentry on watch. The man cupped his mouth with another shout, "It looks as a fine night, don' it?"

Robb naturally wore his friendly grin. He glanced at the man aloft. "Yes, beautiful weather." He raised a hand to call, "Do enjoy it!"

Farren smiled to herself. Robb was kind and cordial to everyone, no matter who they were, and people liked him. Even at the public stable, he and the groomer's boy made friendly conversation. A youth looked no older than eleven years. Most men would just hand their horse to the boy, and Robb did just that, but as they crossed the stable's threshold, Farren saw him turn back.

Robb dipped a hand into his cloak pocket, "Hey, Ready." he called to the boy, with a snap of the thumb Robb flipped a coin in the youth's hand as an added gratitude. It spun with a golden shine, revealing its value. A generous reward, and one of kindness. The stable boy grinned greatly, his eyes lit astounded. "Thank you, M'lord," He said overwhelmed and took a quick brush to Farren's mare.

Robb took hold of Farren's hand to swing as they strolled into town. The warmth of his fingers twined in hers ran clean through her. She knew Robb would make the finest Lord the north had to offer. A Stark true to his name. The gods chose right in making him one. With a faint sigh and glance at Robb Farren admitted to herself she was falling in love with him. The notion no longer frightened her. She trusted in her feelings as she did in Robb.

To meet his gaze made her forget all else. His bright eyes gleamed as if there were sapphires fixed within them. Have they ever known nothing other than the truth? Surely not. Robb's eyes could not lie, no more than his charming smile or his body.

 _His body._ The thought of what nearly occurred in Robb's chamber She welcomed greatly. The picture remained vivid in her mind. If they were anywhere other than Winterfell, fate would have captured the moment.

 _I wonder if this town has an inn?_ The notion made her blush and dipped her head to conceal a grin. Keeping an inconstant mind that was full of desire. Her soul was so aloft that she missed a step on the cobblestone.

"Careful," Robb caught her with a grin, his eyes bestowing a radiant glow. He pulled her tight into his strong arms. Farren warmly flushed.

 _Surely every town has an inn._

* * *

 **Next chapter preview- Farren and Robb explore the town. The two share a memorable night, but She does something she thinks may have upset him.**

Thank you to my followers for your support! Please, please comment, let me know what you think. :)


	12. Causes and Cobblestone

**It has been a long time, but I am back! Summer is coming! Thank you to everybody who hung in there, those who follow, comment or fave. Also, shout out to Darkwolf76, thanks to her aid and urging I was able to get this chapter on the road. Check out her GOTfic "Defying Demons" It has a character pairing I think you might enjoy. ;)**

 **Chapter Preview-** Farren and Robb explore the streets ofWintertown, They encounter awkward situations finding them hard to address. Farren does something unexpected, and Her actions leave Robb speechless.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

* * *

Farren enjoyed the liveliness of the village. Wintertown was as grand as Winterfell itself. The buildings were just as ancient, and the settlement had every amenity imaginable. Clusters of wooden houses, merchant shops, taverns, and alehouses teemed with life.

The beautiful storefronts, with their windows of vivid colored glass, amazed her. A display of fabrics and silk particularly caught her eye. A variety of textiles colored in vibrant hues hung in the window, reminding her of her brother's paintings.

Along the streets, farmers ran stands, peddling diverse crops. A root farmer's goods drew Farren in. She scanned a basket of large turnips, so healthy and bright. They looked rich with a white color fading into pink. "You have done lovely with these. They look delicious," Farren complemented the farmer as Robb, and she passed by. Past the garden stands a bitter smell filled the air. Fishwives effortlessly scaled their husband's catches. Luckily the bakery that followed covered the foul door with the sweet aroma of bread and cakes.

The street grew noisy as they reached the crossing. The corner house held several loud, scantily clad young women. They hung out of windows, calling and waving to passing men. The house was a brothel, and the young women were whores looking for patrons. _Theirs must be a hard life._ Farren felt sympathy for the girls. She gazed at them, some so young. Suddenly, a pull on her wrist turned her eyes front. Robb clutched her hand close to his hip as passed the brothel. Farren smiled at the red-haired woman that stood near one of its doorways. The red head grinned at Robb, "M'lord what a charming surprise it is to see you again."

"Ros, correct?" Robb asked the girl who nodded yes. Farren noticed a strange tone in Robb's voice, and that the color that drained from his cheeks. He seemed embarrassed and appeared uncomfortable before the women. The a feeble smiled at him as if they were dear friends, "I would love to see you again, but, hmm it seems you are keeping busy." Her eyes leaped to Farren. Robb hummed, "I have found myself occupied. Though I'm sure you can expect Theon's company, likely before the week is out." Robb's gentle laugh did not please the girl.

"I'm certain." She clipped with a bitter attitude, though Her smile reappeared quite quickly, "Well, I look forward to the day you find yourself free of...Distraction." She said eyeing Farren, then slid a hand on Robb's shoulder with a grin, "Have a pleasant evening M'lord." She said, swinging her hips as she walked away. Farren hummed in discontent. She glanced back at the whore, who promptly greeted another man. _Harlot._ Farren thought with scrunched lips. Her sympathy for whores dwindled with meeting Roz the redhead.

Farren and Robb left her, neither commenting on the encounter. Robb mixing words with the whore did not bother Farren, or so she convinced herself. Men felt a strong need to seek women and Robb was no exception. He was at her side, holding her hand because he found her, and chose her company.

Still, the run in with Roz seemed painful for Robb. Farren decided to encourage him not to dwell on it. She looked at him with a thoughtful smile and a soft heart, "So she was a friend?" She asked him gently.

"I..." Robb hummed nervously and scratched the back of his neck, "I guess she could be considered one." He gripped Farren's hand tighter as he confessed,"I don't know her, not really. Ros, She was just...a one-time friend. I.." His voice fell, "I'm, sorry.."

His guilt was unnecessary. He needed reassurance, and Farren was more than happy to provide it. "You feel one time is offensive?" She smirked with a chuckle. "My brother Hazel would be that girl's greatest friend."

Robb's laugh urged her to continue, "My brother had a problem with making too many friends like her. When my grandfather learned of it, Hazel overcame his problem." Farren shook her head. "To this day, my grandfather still records where Hazel spends his Lord's allowance. My grandfather lists where it goes, down to every copper. After he had started that, I noticed my brother took to befriending our farmer's daughters."

Robb chuckled with a spirit. "He would get along with Theon. He usually attempts to take any girl he lays eyes on. He has no restrictions, though It seems your brother is a close equivalent."

Farren smirked, Robb's notion of Hazel was reasonable, but far from the truth. She held off saying how cynical her brother was. Hazel had set requirements for the girls he sought. His sought after girls were usually pretty, dumb and quickly smitten by him. Also, He'd only ever talk to lowborn girls. Though Hazel once consoled a sick Lord's daughter, he rode to comfort the girl the evening after her father died. Farren loved her brother unconditionally, but would admit Hazel had his flaw. She could not blame him fully. Hazel was very handsome. Girls flocked to him with little thought. She had flown to the striking Robb Stark. He met her gaze with a whole-hearted smile, which Farren returned. It was refreshing to know he was nothing similar to Hazel or his iron born friend.

The incident with Robb and the whore did not concern her too much more. She remained set on enjoying the town. Along the cobblestone, artisans conversed with petty lords and smallfolk alike. A group of young boys dashed and weaved their way in the street. Robb lifted her hand to allow one boy underneath. Farren laughed when the boy snatched a pear from a fruit stand. The shopkeeper shouted a curse at the young thief, and she grinned at the sight. Suddenly a faint and feeble voice caught her ear. "Spare a copper, for old women. A small coin is all."

An elderly woman sat hunched and on a barrel, her face deeply wrinkled and her hair like snow. Within the town's hustle, she was invisible and her voice unheard. The old wrench had few teeth and a face full of warts. Farren frowned. She'd left her purse with her dress at Winterfell. If she hadn't, she would have generously obliged the poor woman. She believed asking Robb to lend a coin seemed inappropriate, and soon the woman was too far off to catch his attention. Feeling guilty, Farren pictured the Warren's heart tree, saying a quick prayer to old gods for the old woman.

 **From** a far off selling stand, a single voice overshadowed the other vendors. A heavy-set merchant with a thick yellow beard called out from a decorated stall, "Gold from the Westerlands! Silver from the Reach!"

Farren jumped when the man pointed at her. She looked over oddly as he summoned her with a coaxing hand. "Come here my lady and see what I have for you."

"Oh, no..." Farren's said as she smiled, "No, no, but thank you," She waved farewell at the merchant, but he would not yield. "You must have a look. Just a look." The man tried to encourage her by holding up a silver necklace. It gleamed in the fading evening light as it dangled from his hand. Farren forced a delicate smile, sighed reluctantly, and approached the stall. At least she could humor the man. His smiling cheeks lifted his heavy beard. Unlike the farmers, this merchant did not speak or look like a peasant. He was finely dressed and polished. With pressed lips he formed a welcoming grin, "My lady, surely something will catch your eye." He said, gliding his hand over the jewelry, mainly the finest which were laid out on blue velveteen. A variety of clasps and buckles for men was set beside an ample selection of jewelry for women. Farren scanned the endless mixture of silver and gold. She saw flowers, pleasing silhouettes, and sigils of various Northern houses. Placed among the latter was a necklace with a rabbit charm, cast in a white silver. Farren glanced up at the man. His eyes twinkled as he asked, "Tell me fine Lady, which do you favor?"

"They are all very lovely." Farren praised weakly. The merchant held his grin. Farren had no intention of making a purchase but continued the conversation as appropriate. She held back a sigh. "That rabbit is very handsome." She loathed being a noble woman.

The man glanced at Robb, "The necklace is silver to match your lovely lady's eyes." He held the back of his hand to his mouth. "A pleasing gift, would indeed be cause for a lady to show her Lord a pleasing...type of gratitude," The man he whispered loudly with a wink. "Or so I have heard."

 _Pleasing gratitude?_ Farren wondered what he meant she glanced at Robb. He raised an eyebrow with an amused expression, then laughed with the merchant. Farren guessed the merchant had conveyed an unseemly reference. A jest meant for men. A light breeze rattled the stall a bit. She gazed up and spotted more necklaces dangling aloft. Hanging down were wood carved pendants, and painted beads. "These wooden ones are beautiful." Farren pointed out honestly. "Where do they come from?"

"Those? They are just trinkets made by Northern clan's women." The man shook his hand to retrieve her eyes, "My lady, to match your beauty, you need something far finer." The man grinned with a nod, glancing at Robb "Would my Lord not agree?"

Robb nodded in return, "Absolutely." He glanced at Farren fondly before focusing back on the merchant. "May we see the rabbit?" He requested.

 _What?_ Farren looked over in surprise.

With a cheery grin, the plump merchant lifted the necklace and laid it before her. Was Robb seriously thinking of buying it for her?" _What is he doing?_

The necklace would be a generous gift, too generous. Her mother had speculated she was becoming intimate with Robb. The appearance of a new necklace would just be a confirmation to her. Robb's offer was genuinely kind but placing her in an awkward position. The image of the poor old women danced in her mind. Farren could not take the glimmering gift. "Robb thank you, it's a very sweet offer, but I cannot accept."

Robb's blue eyes shined, his stare insisting as he smiled, "It would be my pleasure."

"It's such a kind offer, but please, you shouldn't. I ask you don't." Farren thought quickly, searching for an excuse. "I..I have too many." She spoke sensibly.

Hearing her humility, the smiling merchant stroked his beard. "One can never have too much." He winked at Robb.

Farren hummed as she pressed her lips together, "I'm sorry, but no thank you." She rejected the merchant kindly. "I'm sorry Robb, thank you for the offer," she said, pleased when he nodded.

"How you wish it, my lady." He tapped the table top regarding the man behind it. "Perhaps next time."

The merchant shrugged off his disappointment and pressed his grin.

Farren acknowledged him with a cordial nod before she and Robb moved along. _For all gods sakes._ Farren rolled her eyes, happy to be free of the merchant. The necklace would have been nice, but her mother's screams, not so much. Holly would have been furious to have seen the shimmering proof of Robb Stark's affection for her daughter.

Farren smirked when Robb took her hand in his. The warmth of it was a far better gift than any necklace.

* * *

 **The** sound of cheering turned their attention to the town square, where a spectacle had drawn a good sized crowd. "Let's see what it is," Farren said as she led Robb toward the noise. Inching her way through the throng, Farren found an opening and stood on her toes for a better view. A fire acrobat juggled a trio of burning torches, flipping them with great finesse. He put one of them in his mouth and released a blaze. Farren gasped in awe, and her cheeks flushed feeling the heat when flames that billowed upward. "That's amazing," Farren addressed Robb behind her. "How do you think he does it?" She glanced over her shoulder and found him missing. "Robb…?" Farren scanned the crowd.

"Farren!" Robb called to her from across the square. He waved a hand to signal for her to approach the doorway of a tavern. Farren smiled as Robb cordially opened the door for her. "My brothers and I always come here. They have the best ale around. You have to try it."

The tavern had an appealing charm. A great hearth bathed the room golden orange and radiated a cozy warmth. The atmosphere was cheerful, conversation and laughter floating through the hall as a band of minstrel played music and sang. The delicious smell of food made Farren's mouth water. She and Robb dined on honey coated ham, glazed carrots, potatoes, and onions, and then was shed down with a brown ale, its sweet nut flavor smooth. Farren had to agree with Robb. The drink was indeed worthy of praise.

The tavern had an appealing charm. A great hearth bathed the room golden orange and radiated a cozy warmth. The atmosphere was cheerful, conversation and laughter floating through the hall as a band of minstrel played music and sang. The delicious smell of food made Farren's mouth water. She and Robb dined on honey coated ham, glazed carrots, potatoes, and onions, and then was shed down with a brown ale, its sweet nut flavor smooth. Farren had to agree with Robb. The drink was indeed worthy of praise.

She savored her last sip, leaving her mug dry as his. Farren held it as the remnants of froth dripped to the bottom."Would you care for a second?" Robb asked eyeing the mug. Farren sighed, "I would if I did not have to go home to my mother." She pressed her lips with frustration. Robb stared at her with soft, honest eyes. "I wish you didn't."

"So do I, very much," Farren smiled at him. She then ran her fingers over her mug handle and hummed. "Maybe I could have one more," Her answer made him grin. "I shall return, my lady." He went to get their second round of drinks.

Farren drowned out all the voices and conversation, turning her full attention to the music. The flutist, drummer, and fiddler played a lively melody. Farren often found music hypnotizing. Especially the sound of the fiddle. It was reminded her of her mother Holly would often play for her children. Farren closed her eyes and rested her chin. The evening had turned out lovely. Hours ago she had been riding home upset and alone, but then Robb had turned that hopelessness into real joy.

"Farren?"

"Hmm?" Farren looked up to see Robb looking at her with an amused smile and a pint in his hand. She laughed, shaking her head, "Sorry, I got lost in the music. I can't resist the sound of a fiddle."

"He's good," Robb said taking a sip of fresh ale.

Farren grinned. "Yes he is, but you know what…" She laid her palms on the table and leaned toward Robb, "My mother's better."

"My lady," Robb smiled, his features feigning shock, "I never thought you to be so, presumptuous." He laughed.

"She is!" Farren laughed and sipped her ale, "Mmm. My mother is truly talented. I'll never be as good as her."

Robb's eyes lit up. "Do you play as well?"

Farren smiled at his amazed expression. Robb always seemed impressed when learning a new fact about her. "My mother taught me when I was very young. Music has always been her passion," she said, a fond memory playing in her mind.

"Will you play for me?" Robb asked, his eyes full of affection and longing.

Farren teased him with a smile. "Perhaps a song or two. Though I feel I'm terrible compared to my mother."

Robb held his mug to his lips with a pointed finger, "I bet you're better than him."

Perfectly amused, Farren snickered. "I'm not sure," she jested brightly. "That sounds a bit presumptuous my lord."

Robb's laugh faded as the current song ended. "What will it be next?" The fiddler asked the crowd. "Any requests?" The loud chatter in the hall overtook his voice, so he pointed to the table closest. "How about you lot, any requests?"

"I have a request," said Robb raising a hand. The fiddler turned swiftly to Robb, who regarded the man cordially. "May I have your name first?"

"Willam m'lord," the fiddler answered gladly. Robb straightened his posture. "Willam, would you be so kind and lend my lady your fiddle?"

"Robb," Farren whispered, "What are you doing?" The soft question was outdone by the fiddler's response, "As m'lord wishes." Farren cast a wide-eyed look at Robb. He smiled as he laughed, "What? I heard there's a fair fiddle player in our midst." The humor in his eyes then changed to something else far more tender. "Would you do me the honor, my lady?"

He might as well have bowed with the request. His smile insisted as did his gleaming eyes, both asking her to humor him. Farren sipped her ale and shook her head, "Huaa…very well. But you only get one." She shared a grin with Robb, nudging him playfully in the arm as she passed. "You're lucky I have a pint of ale in me," she flirted with Robb as she accepted the fiddle. "Thank you." She jumped back startled when the fiddler hopped up onto a chair. The drummer pounded for attention as the fiddler he cupped his hands around his mouth. "Listen up you lot! M'lady-" He looked down with a grin. "What's your name luv?"

She smiled reluctantly. "Farren." The happy Fiddler took it with a nod then addressed the hall with spirit. "M'lady Farren's got the next song for ya. I know you don't listen to me," He laughed, others followed the jest, He smiled and raised his voice, "But hopefully, you'll lend an ear to our fair lady here." He looked down and held out a hand. "Crowd's yours, M'lady."

"Thank you." Farren pursed her lips to hide a smile and eyed Robb, shaking her head at him. Robb responded with a shrug and broad grin. He sat back lazily, laughed, and crossed his arms, looking as if he was enjoying the show already.

Farren gazed around the room, observing the hall full of people who anticipated song. Resting her gaze on Robb, she closed her eyes and smiled. With a pull of the bow, she thought of her mother, Holly. As she played, she thought of her mother, whom played songs of mountains and forests, fallen evenings of twilight and mist. Holly could make her instrument cry or sing of joy, a gifted talent that complemented her beauty.

With a final glide of the bow came delighted applause. Farren laughed and nodded, and would have curtsied if in a dress, but felt silly to so in pants. Robb's pants from when he was a boy. She looked to see he wore an expression of delight as he clapped. "That was beautiful. You played beautifully, my lady." He beamed at her.

"I'm happy it pleased you," Farren said. She watched him reach into his cloak and pull out something. It flashed brightly and glittered in the tavern's warm fire light. He held the necklace with the rabbit charm, the one from the merchant's stand. Farren stared in shock. "What's this?" She whispered.

"A gift my lady," said Robb as he held it before her. "May I?" He nodded to her neck. She dumbly nodded in ascent and had to force herself not shiver as he gently pushed her dark hair to the side. His knuckles brushed against her neck as he clasped it in place. Farren's gazed down at the elegant gift. It was indeed lovely, but she could not keep it. "Robb, I can't. I asked you not to." He threaded his fingers through hers. "I believe it was made for you Farren," He urged with his gentle smile.

She lifted the rabbit in her hand and sighed. "It's lovely Robb, but you shouldn't have bought it."I insist you take it, Farren," Robb tilted his head towards her. "You are sure to be leaving soon. Please accept it, at least as a parting gift." He caressed her neck. "It suits you, my lady."

Farren smiled with a lightly, still reluctant to concede, but she would not argue his kindness further. "Thank you."

Despite her hesitance, she really did adore the necklace. It would be a treasure to remind her of Robb. But she would not need a reminder of him. The necklace was a precious thing, but another image lay in her mind. She waved to a server with a tray of meat pies. "Do you mind fetching me one of those, and if you could wrap it in cloth, I'd be grateful-." Recalling her purse at Winterfell, She halted and turned to Robb "I hope you don't mind," Robb gave her an odd look. "Of corse not." The girl wrapped the pie in clean linen and handed it off, "Thank you," Farren said kindly.

It was dark when they stepped out the tavern's door. The night air was crisp and smelled of fire and smoke. Farren and Robb walked hand in hand. The streets had settled, the merchant's stalls and shops having closed for the day. "You should have mentioned you were still hungry." Robb declared glancing at the pie. Farren smiled in reply. "I'm afraid It's not for me ." Before he could question her, she found who she'd hope to encounter.

The poor old crone remained on her barrel with a hunched head and tired eyes. She gazed up wearily. Farren offered her the pie. "Here you are," The old women beamed at it, then at Farren. Her mouth opened, exposing her very few teeth. Farren returned the smile, and then reached behind her neck, unclasped her new necklace, and placed it into the woman's wrinkled hands. "Take this as well," Farren said. "Sell it if you wish. It's yours."

The women looked up in shock as tears engulfed her eyes. She took Farren's hands, wrapping her withered thumbs around them. "Oh my sweet girl, I..I have not the words to thank you." A tear slid down her cheek. "Seven Blessings to you M'lady. You have a kind heart." The women turned to Robb, "You as well m'lord. How generous you are. May the gods bless you both, the old and the new."

"You as well," Robb answered, Farren looked at him in surprise. Giving away the gift would have left him in shock for sure, but he'd proved her wrong.

 **Robb** remained silent on the ride out of town. His silence was unsettling. The village lights grew faint and the stillness more uncomfortable. The rising quarter moon cast a glow revealing a light rolling fog across the hills. Farren gazed down at her horse's mane. "I'm sorry," She whispered, "You gave me that necklace as a gift, a very kind gift. It was wrong of me to give it away. I saw her earlier in the evening, and I felt so sorry for her. I hope you're not angry with me."

"No, my lady," Robb turned his head, "You can not think yourself wrong. I overlooked that woman. I did not see her at all, and I feel ashamed for having to admit is. As for that necklace, it was yours, to give it away. What you did was admirable, and very kind." Robb said sweetly. He then let out a chuckle. "Truth is, I was stunned that you gave it away. My sister Sansa would have never. In fact, I don't know anyone who wo...were you raised to be so giving?" Robb turned to her with curiosity.

Farren looked thought for a moment, As lovely as the necklace was, she had not needed it, but the old woman had. Besides, it had felt very gratifying helping another. _To please another is to please oneself._ She learned that from her grandfather. _Was I raised to be so giving? No, I was not._ The thought put a bitter taste in her mouth. "My Lord grandfather raised us. He taught me to be giving, but he did not raise me to be. He does not deserve that credit." She said. Robb raised his brow. "How is that?"

"He incredibly selfish man," Farren replied simply.

Robb looked humored by her answer but also taken aback. He hummed a sound of disbelief. "He can not be all that bad, " he said in mile defense before mulling things over. "So then, how did such a selfish man teach you to be so giving?"

Farren's smile dropped a bit, "I..." She knew the answer but did not wish to say. "It is a long story."

"It is a long ride," Robb returned with a grin. "Will you entertain me?"

She pressed her lips together for a moment. "It's very a sad tale," she cautioned, but his beaming glance urged her to continue. Farren sighed, "Two years ago, my handmaiden Eevee came to me and said her sister was in danger of dying. The girl had worked in a brothel and got an illness from a man. She fell terribly ill and needed to be treated, but the medicine was expensive. Eevee had given her all she had, but it wasn't enough. I reassured her that my grandfather could help. We went to him, and Eevee told her story, and I asked for his help. I remember he accepted because...well since his soldiers visit the country brothels, he thought the whores there ought to be in good health." Farren mumbled her temper away to help herself continue,

"Eevee told him the brothel was on another Lord's land. Surprisingly, my grandfather was ok with that, but he did inquire the name. Eevee said he was our neighbor Lord, Lord Reynard." Farren sighed." That day I learned Grandfather apparently despises Lord Reynard. So he decided our issue wasn't worth his concern. I knew better than to argue him, but I had an idea. Lord Bolton intended to feast his bannerman entourage before the full moon. Grandfather loves to parade me around at these gatherings, so he insisted I have a new dress. He sent word to the town tailor requesting an expensive gown and silver brushed lace. Later that day the tailor received a raven. It carried a parchment to cancel the dress order, one I fastened with my grandfather's seal." Farren sniggered and looked at Robb mischievously. His astounded smile and wide blue eyes showed shock and amusement. She tittered a tune to reward former cunning before she continued the tale, "So, I made certain to collect the return fund, I rescued the gold and sent it to Eevee's sister. It paid for her the medicine. Unfortunately, Grandfather discovered what I'd had done. He scolded me and claimed I was wrong, I lost my temper, and called him a selfish man to his face. He decided Eevee was responsible for my disrespect and said she was a bad influence on me. So He had her flogged and then turned her out. He told me I was never to see her again, then confined me to my chamber for a fortnight. I did not speak to him for the longest time." Farren scowled bitterly, but her memory lifted the mood, she looked at Robb and recalled the rest, "Eevee wrote me, her sister recovered, and she found work at a tavern outside the Warren. I paid her a visit and met her sister Tara. Tara thanked me and gave me a basket of figs. We at them by the river. Seeing her smile was the greatest gift. How could one deny her? I hated grandfather for doing it. He had the money to lend, but he decided against it and based his decision on a personal contempt for another Lord. So He taught me of selfishness, and I learned of the feeling one gets when they give." Farren's eyes softened, she gazed ahead to shield her sadness. The crisp evening air caressed her face and brought silence with it. Robb broke the stillness with a slight murmur, "I'm sorry. That is indeed a hard lesson."

"That's how he raises us, with hard lessons." Farren murmured, She looked at Robb, his eyes showed worry and profound concern. "Has he ever hurt you?"

"No, no, not at all." She answered honestly. "My grandfather would never put a hand on me. He is too traditional. He sees women as fragile beings. To him, women must be managed delicately," she said, shaking her head at the ridiculous notion. "It's frustrating to be treated like a flower. He treats my brothers different."

"I should hope so," Robb smiled with a light air. Farren did not share his feelings on the issue. "No, he, he's cruel to them. He believes they require harsh discipline, and never shows them anything else. They don't deserve it." Farren looked at Robb and saw a caring look on his face.

"They are lucky to have you as a sister," Robb spoke as if honor reserved his voice for its own. "And I um...You must not mistake my silence on the ride out of town my lady. It is simply, every moment I spend with you leaves me stunned."

Farren looked at Robb and truly grinned. Her smile remained as the rode further down the woodland trail. In the dusk, she was happy to have Robb by her side. With him, she didn't feel afraid in the darkened wood. Robb made the forest a luxury for her to enjoy. The hoot of an owl turned her gaze to the thicket ahead. A smile graced her face when she reached an old friend, the forest's same mysterious heart tree stood out among the others, with its blood-red leaves and pale trunk glowing in the moonlight. It was a sight to behold for any northerner. She and Robb stopped to marvel. Farren stared at the tree's strange face. Ominous eyes stared back at her. Dark sap flowed from the cuts in the wood and painted its cheeks black.

Studying its sad expression, she wondered why it truly cried. Perhaps it wept for its southern brothers. For the time when men in the South denounced the old gods, cut down the heart trees, and replaced them with Septs and seven idols. _They killed their gods._ Farren thought. She thought what she could not say.

Her father believed the old gods could feel like men feel. Sap that flowed from eyes like tears was a proposal that may be true. "It's crying," Farren spoke to Robb as she gazed on the tree. "My Father said, the old gods grieve because they feel forgotten. Men taught them the meaning of neglect. But-"

"The North remembers," Robb had stolen her words. She turned to him and smiled. Robb stared at her. His eyes emphasized his desire and mirrored her own feelings. Suddenly, a mournful wolf howled a lament. The sound was beautiful, but it broke the tranquillity of the dark wood. Farren's mare shivered and shifted its ears. The wolf howled again, louder and closer than the first time. The horse reared and brayed in terror. Farren panicked as she lost control of her steed. As it thrashed its neck, the reins were torn from her grip, and the next thing she knew, she'd been hurled her into the air. She struck the ground, screaming as hooves came towards her from above. The horse hit her with a mighty blow, causing a horrible pain to rush through her head. Robb called to her in fright. She fought to respond, to move her mouth, but it was too much. Weakness seized her body, dulling her senses and her sight. Still, she listened as Robb called, again and again, until his voice faded and everything went dark.

* * *

 **! Don't worry. I am currently working on the next chapter. All I can say is after this chapter, the story starts to take a turn. :3**

 **Thanks for reading, you guys are wonderful. :D**


	13. The Wolf

Thank you, all readers and commenters! You guys are so so awesome! •Don't forget to check out the additional commentary and credits at the end of the chapter. ˙u˙

 **"I wonder about Roose and Farren's mother. Could it be that Farren is the fruit of Roose forcing himself on Holly in the past? It seems that way since Farren has eyes similar to his own."-** xXRosexScorpiusXx,

I got to say Rose made a great point. ;) If Farren is Roose's bastard daughter, I believe that may pose many more questions...As much as I would love to reveal the answers, only the character's can expose the truth. So, you'll have to keep reading and always keep an eye out for clues. ;) Thanks for the comment Rose.

 **. . .**

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

The forest smelled of damp leaves and the echoing sounds of the river cast through the trees. Above the moon began to fade and give way to dawn. In the quiet hours of the morning, Robb Stark asked himself what he should do, and he found that he was at a loss.

He withdrew his long fur cloak, spread it on the grass, then laid Farren on it. He called her name countless times, and endlessly pleaded with her to wake, to say something, anything, but she refused.

A cold wind blew, and the chill made him shiver. His hand found its way to her chest, more than once, to feel for her heart, to feel it rise and fall with the telltale sign of life. With each breath Farren took, it brought Robb some small, precious reprieve. It had lasted a second before his thoughts tormented him.

How would he tell her family? How would he tell his father about the maiden he courted, and how he had failed to protect her? There was a space inside his heart occupied by sweet and gentle Farren, one that no one else could ever fill. _You can not leave me._

"Farren, please wake up," Robb pleaded, his voice was a desperate man's, bordering on the edge of despair. How could he explain himself to Farren's mother? Robb buried the thought and closing his eyes tight. "Farren?" his voice was harsher now, his temper rising to keep him from leaping off the hill of hopelessness.

He spat a curse at the horse that had thrown her. The damned creature looked up with a soft whiny, and then turned its head, completely oblivious to what had occurred. Robb felt Farren's chest rise and fall beneath his hand, and his anger snubbed.

Gently, he lifted her head into his lap and ran his thumb across her cheek, brushing a small bit of hair behind her ear. His breath got caught in his throat as he stared at what lay underneath. A slick of blood stained her hairline. Urgently, dabbed the cut with his sleeve, his effort leaving a bright reddish smudge on her pale skin. The sight made him panic, and his heart beat frantically. Careful to lay Farren's had back down, he stumbled to his feet, and quickly grabbed the empty flask from his horse's saddle. Quickly, he popped open the cork, and turned it down into his hands, but to his dismay, only a single drop trickled out.

He bolted into the dark wood, weaving between trees, each a black and blue shaded pillar that crept up quickly in the shadows. He veered through pine leaves, closing his eyes as shooting branches with sharp needles scraped his face. The urgency to aid the bleeding girl overcame his senses, and he quickly followed the sound of running water. The scent of moss and wet leaves carried him to the source. Robb rushed to the water, his boots slipped down the bank's incline, unearthing mud and leaves in his wake. He dropped to his knees and plunged the flask deep into the water, cursing the slow current until the container filled.

He raced his way back to the Wierwood grove where Farren still lay, he knelt beside her and trickled his flask above her head. The water washed the cut above her eye. He dabbed up the blood with his padded sleeve, staining the cuffs of his doublet. Robb's heart did not rest. With a shuddering sigh, he glanced up at the Wierwood face. The sad expression it had before now appeared careless, and unforgiving. The Weirwood face watched him struggle without batting an eye. Robb growled in frustration.

 _Just help me,_ he prayed as he brought Farren back into his arms, her head cradled in his arms, her shoulders resting on his thigh. The wind stirred the tops of trees as Robb gazed at her. "Farren, open your eyes. Your eyes are beautiful. Please allow me to see them." He glanced up at the sky and caught sight of the moon. The misty afterglow reminded him of her eyes. He thought the first time he's seen them and the memory calmed to his heart. The night they met subsisted in his mind when Farren visited Winterfell from several moons ago, that night He struggled with the question, would he ever behold her again.

»»»»»»»»...

When the everyday frost had changed to snow, His Father had told him winter was coming. The northerners persisted through the coldest of winters for centuries because they looked to House Stark's guidance. But in return, House Stark's survival depended on their subjects. Robb knew his father relied on his vassal lords to rule the land by upholding his laws and the law of the king, especially during the winter, when many areas of the North grew isolated by snow and ice.

The Lords of the North had pledged their loyalty to House Stark, and to face summer's end, Lord Stark sought to renew their promises by holding a commendation ceremony for each major house.

He held lively feasts to celebrate the event and issued all of his vassals a personal invitation. He encouraged the lords to bring their families and vassals so Robb and his siblings could get to know the other noble houses.

Nights filled the great hall with aromas of delicious smelling food and cheerful music, the room always had a joyful atmosphere, but Robb found the evenings a torment.

He had grown tired of all the dull ceremony. Lord after Lord brought a huge entourage to Winterfell, complete with their captains, vassal lords, and various nobles from the lesser houses pledged them. They would carry their banners to Winterfell to witness their liege bend the knee and renew his vows. A grand feast always followed, but those who attended gradually departed within the week. Robb had kindled no relationships with any of the lordlings or young ladies that he'd met at the feasts so far. What was the point of mingling with strangers who would depart only a few days later?

At yet another tiring dinner, he sat the secondary table with Theon at his side. He played with his dinner fork as his friend ate and drank more than his fill. "Could you be any less miserable?" Theon yammered with a mouth full. "Have a damn drink already!" He nudged Robb as he slid a wine-filled goblet in front of him.

Robb pushed the cup aside with a huff. "Why should I bother? Father is forcing me to rise early again tomorrow to go on another hunt with his bannermen."

"Since when do you not enjoy a hunt?"

"Don't mistake me, I love them, but my Father always offers the kill to the Lord of honor. He says it's tradition, and we must be polite. I'm simply there for show. The sport has become tiresome as I'm weary of these feasts. These people come and go too quickly. For the first time, I envy Jon. My mother hasn't allowed him to attend any of the events. He has no idea how lucky he is."

"MmHmm." Theon shrugged and proceeded to chew. Robb rolled his eyes and deeply sighed, he crossed his arms and surveyed the room. He gazed lazily over the sea of faces and suddenly stopped when one caught his attention. More beautiful than any other in the room, a young woman near his age, she sat at the table at the back, chatting with a friend. He became fixated on her and stretched his neck for a closer glimpse. A nudge on his arm pulled his eyes away from her. "Well, I'm off," Theon said, he picked his teeth as he rose and went ahead to mingle with the crowd.

Robb turned his attention back to the girl, taking in her elegant features. She had dark hair and had a northerner's fair skin, her lips and eyes drew him in like a moth to a flame. She smiled as she spoke and held herself with grace. The sight of her pleased him, and soon he wished to talk to her. Her every feature drew his eyes until he purposely looked away. He bitterly glared down at the wooden table top, the crumbs and stains were a view that suited his mood.

Meeting the lovely girl would be unavailing, she was bound to leave in the morning, and they'd never see or hear of each other again. She'd quietly marry some lesser lord, and he'd marry some noble lady from a ruling house.

Robb sighed and gave her one swift glance _You are beautiful, but I should not tease myself._ He shook his head and turned his attention to the sight of Theon. He wondered about the hall chatting with whoever he pleased. Robb smiled, knowing full well the Iron Islander's intentions for the evening.

It amused him to see how Theon managed when it came to coaxing women into bed. He'd ruined his reputation among Sansa's friends, and all girls in Winterfell for the matter. So he bartered silver coins for nightly visits to the town brothel. Unfortunately for Theon as of late, the reoccurring ceremonial feasts forced him to spend his evenings at Winterfell. He had complained about the company for weeks, saying most of the girls were maidens who had no interest in sharing his bed. But Theon was resourceful when it came to women, and he'd developed a strategy for finding petty lord's daughter's worth his while.

Humored, Robb watched his friend from afar. The young man who Theon chatted with shrugged and shook his head. Theon moved on to talk with the next young man. Whatever Theon said made the lordling laugh heartily. He clapped a hand on Theon's shoulder and pointed to the back of the room.

Something intriguing drove Theon followed in that direction and found a lordling around to his age. The young man had short tawny hair, he was tall with a stable build and wore a striking emerald kerchief around his neck. Robb considered the young man's appearance and resolved a thought. _Sansa would swoon over this one if he'd come from a greater house._ He chuckled to himself. Humored in amazement, as He watched Theon proceed with his cunning charade. The Iron Islander introduced himself to the young man with a charming smile. The two talked for a few minutes and shared a few laughs before a parting with a solid forearm grip handshake.

As he weaved his way back through the crowded hall, Theon wore a broad grin. Robb smiled at him to congratulate on his success. "Who'd you meet?" He asked as Theon took a seat beside him.

"His name's Hazel. He's the grandson of some Lord named, Furth? Or Frith? Whatever his name may be, I made a deal with him," Theon remarked. His lips curved into a smug smile, and his eyes held a wanton look.

"You seem proud of yourself," Robb remarked in amusement.

Theon grinned, "Very."

Robb chuckled, He had no interest in Theon's conquests, but he would admit the stories were always entertaining. "So what does your deal entail?" He asked curiously.

"I will be making an exchange with him," Theon said with an uppity air and a grin on his face. "I agreed to introduce him to a proper lady, and in return, he introduces me to one."

 _A proper Lady?_ Robb burst into laughter. Of course, Theon made an arrangement to get a woman in bed. He found it strange, though, that his friend would let someone else introduce him to a girl instead of pursuing her himself. "Why not just go sit next to someone attractive and start talking to her?"

"If I have to listen to her I want to know it'll be worth my time," Theon replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Theon wasn't looking for anything special, anything long lasting or precious. All he sought was a release. Whether before or after, He did not care to conversate much with girls.

"You must find it frustrating to hear them speak at all." Robb chuckled, he sipped his wine, smiling into his cup.

Unfazed, Theon wiped his mouth on his sleeve and signaled a servant girl for more wine, his eyes crawling over her form as she did so.

"So who do you suggest I pass off in return," He asked.

"You'd know better than I would," Robb replied. He pursed his lips, and he did not care to give Theon's quandary much thought. He could only offer a guess, "Ser Rodrick's niece offered herself up to me once, but I turned her away."

"I know that already since I acted as your replacement." Theon guffawed, then shook his head. "She's a real wench, but she's of no use to me."

"Why not?" Robb grinned, "If she'll bed you, she's sure to lay with anyone. Or perhaps it is the other way around." He laughed alone. Theon glared at him as he collected himself. "I can't use that girl because of the way she looks."

"Whats wrong with her?"

"Tiny tits, and mule's ears."

"Mule's ears?" Robb snorted, "Her mule's ears didn't stop you from bedding her." He shielded himself as Theon tried to punch him.

"Aye, but I hold little standards for the girls I bed. Teeth, tits, and toes. But this petty lord was arrogant. The prick said he preferred a golden-haired girl who..." Theon paused as he focused his eyes through the sea of bodies milling around the Hall. Before Robb could ask him what he saw in the crowd, Theon clapped him on the back and disappeared into the mass.

With the table to himself, Robb leaned back in his seat and listened to the music. He stretched his legs, rested his head on his hands, and took in the revelry throughout the room. Without his best friend's lively company, he quickly grew tired of the mundane entertainment.

Robb wished he could retire for the evening, but to do so would insult his father's guests. Remembering his manners, he covered his mouth as he let out a huge yawn, and cast a weary look at the banners that draped the walls. House Mormont's banners had adorned the wall the fortnight before. Now they were replaced with those of the current vassal his father was hosting, the flayed man of House Bolton.

 _Ridiculous,_ Robb thought as he stared at the dark banner. The gruesome sigil might be a source of pride to the Boltons and their vassals, but the residents of Winterfell only felt varying degrees of indifference and disgust towards it. Robb knew his people wouldn't be too bothered by it. Northmen were accustomed to a harsh world, and a banner would not affect them that deeply. They were a cool, stern-faced people, but with much ale and a warm hearth, their spirits would rise, and their frozen natures would thaw.

Many of the northern lords shared that temperament, but the Lord of the Dreadfort did not. With a single glance, Robb discerned that Roose Bolton was a rather unusual individual. The man's eyes were as pale as snow, and they were frightening. Robb had never seen eyes that seemed so bored, yet very aware. Lord Bolton toyed lazily with his dinner knife as he shared small talk with Lord Stark. Robb was impressed by his father's ability to abide Lord Bolton's unsettling presence. Roose Bolton didn't even look his father in the eye as he spoke. Instead, the man stared ahead, aloof, with his gaze fastened to something in the rear of the hall. Robb shivered when he realized the man had yet to blink. He wondered what held the Lord's attention.

He turned around to try to find an answer to his question, but only saw a crowd of nondescript nobles, conversing, and drinking. No one person stood out. The faces blended, all alike to Robb. He glanced over them and spotted the girl who he'd admired earlier in the evening. She looked lovely, adorned an elegant dress of emerald green, with black baroque that flowed across her breast. He decided he had to get a closer glimpse when someone blocked his view entirely.

"My Lord, I have waited half evening to meet you." The high-pitched voice of a young woman caught Robb off guard. The girl walked around him, settling herself beside in on the bench, her eyes never once leaving him. "I know we ought to be suitably introduced, but it seems my father's nowhere to be found, and yours is occupied. I hope you'll pardon my impropriety, but I think you're too charming to ignore."

"I.. who?" Robb murmured. "I'm sorry, I haven't your name. My Lady?"

"Daria," The girl introduced herself. She said she was the noble daughter of a lord named Locke, and moments later Robb knew everything about her. The girl spoke incredibly fast and moved an inch closer to him with every word spoken. Half-heartedly, He tried to engage her in conversation, but when she drew uncomfortably near, he began to fidget. Suddenly, she ran several adventurous fingers over his thigh. She claimed his personal space, showing him an eye-full of her cleavage, and giggled excessively at every word he said.

 _Theon would have found you entertaining._ Unnerved, Robb smiled as he shifted away, though her hand slipped further up his leg. Suddenly, she withdrew her fingers. Curious, Robb glanced up to see what had stopped the girl's pursuit. He felt shocked and delighted to see a young woman sitting before him. The one he had been admiring, in all her glory. She was stunning, near and far. He promptly introduced himself as she stole his attention.

 _Farren of House Frith_ Robb repeated her name, keeping it in mind. He wished to remember such a beautiful girl. He would remember Farren Frith. The shade of her hair matched a brown raven's feathers. The gods had decorated her with the pleasing features of beauty, gracing her with a heart-shaped face, and skin the color of cream, her eyes alike. Their conversation flowed effortlessly and left Robb feeling warm. He suddenly found the evening far more enjoyable.

He noticed Theon had returned to the table, and he brought his new friend, the young man with the emerald kerchief. He had his arm around the waist of a golden-haired girl. Robb thought it funny to learn the other girl, the talkative one, Daria, turned out to be Theon's prize. The two couples had decided to visit the god's wood. Wishing to enjoy Farren's company away from the crowded hall, Robb invited her on a stroll through the wood as well.

Within the grove, the trees grew dense, and the noisy feast hall fell out of sight, replaced the soft shadowed wood and peaceful sounds of the evening. Casually, Robb took her hand, and their fingers naturally entwined. "Do you like the God's Wood?" Robb asked, suddenly fearing to bore her.

"Very much," Farren smiled, and his heart lifted. A sudden noise made Robb turned to see Theon approaching them with a friendly smile. "Pardon me, My Lady, if I may..." Theon asked. "I need to have a quick word with Lord Stark."

Farren softly smiled in reply. Theon tugged him toward a dark oak tree. Robb groaned, he looked at his friend irritably. "What is so important, that it needs to be said?" He asked.

"She's his sister," Theon responded, a little touch of urgency slipping into his voice.

Robb rose a brow in surprise. "Whose sister?"

"Hazel's, Hazel's sister. The girl you're with is Hazel's sister."

He remembered the young man with the emerald kerchief, who Theon had bargained with to secure a pretty girl. "What?" Robb glared at Theon. Was his friend trying to insinuate something? "What does that have to do with anything? We weren't doing anything that would require her brother to defend her honor. What did you say to him?" He scowled at Theon's hand laid on his shoulder.

His friend smiled reassuringly, "No need to worry, I told him you wouldn't fuck her."

Robb froze in shock. He snatched Theon's hand and pushed it off of him. "I wasn't thinking of fucking her," He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to punch the carefree look off of his friend's face. It was not pleasant. Frustrated, he released a complaining sigh. He did want to get close to the Farren, truly. He found her breathtaking. The three glasses of wine at the feast added to his desire and the lust that flowed through him. He had to remind himself she was a noble and a maiden, deserving better than a quick romp in the dirt with a ready man. He had no ill-willed plan and thought nothing like the Iron Islander. Robb sighed, "What did you tell her brother?"

"I reassured him and said you most likely would not fuck his virgin sister," Theon laughed, leaning against the oak grinning. "Don't look so grim Robb. I'm fooling with you. Hazel only asks that you respect his sister." Theon crossed his arms, "But I say if she opens her legs for you, then why not accept the invitation?"

Robb shook his head incredulity. "I'm not you, Theon. She's a noble maiden, and I'm not going to rob her of her honor."

"Her honor?" Theon laughed, "She's the daughter of your Bannerman's, Bannerman. She's bound to leave in the morning."

 _Farren of house Frith_ Robb repeated the maiden's name in his head and sighed, he shook his head and plucked a shred of tree bark off of the oak, "Theon I have no ill intentions with a maiden or the daughter of a lord, no matter his standing." Casually, Robb glanced over at the girl. She waited for him near the Wierwood. Her figure was gorgeous, painted in the moon glow, and oh so tempting. He shifted his gaze elsewhere with a subtle groan. _Farren of house Frith_

"Do something wrong for once." Theon stepped closer, his voice full of encouragement, "You could take her without consequence. You're never going to see her again after tonight."

"How can I dishonor her for the sake of myself? She-" Robb stammered.

"Then you're wasting your time with her."

"She was the prettiest girl in that entire hall. The truth is, I saw her earlier, and I would have talked to her. I wanted to talk to her."

"She is a beautiful thing, Robb. You won't regret it after she's gone. You'll only miss her until you forget her name."

Theon made a case Robb did not wish to accept. He turned away from his friend with no response, .. _I will not forget._

 _Farren of house Frith_

»»»»»»»»...

Robb shook his head free of recollections.

 _Farren._

 _I never forgot you._

Staring down at Farren's fearfully calm face and watching with bated breath as she breathed in slow and steady. Robb realized he had fallen in love with her. It seemed strange to know he'd once overlooked this woman and now prayed to any god that would listen for her to return to him. When he met first her, he thought the feeling was infatuation, a passing flame that would burn out the moment she left Winterfell. But Farren did not leave him the same man he was before. She had charmed him and burrowed her way into his memory. Now, the thought of being without her was unacceptable.

Robb gazed up at the Weirwood. The sun peaked from the treetops, and an early bird twittered and as he gazed upon Farren's face. Her small frame laid out on the furs, he Ran his hand through her hair and cradled her shoulders. He imagined her looking up at him with her eyes, full of warmth and trust. Suddenly her eyelashes fluttered, and she blinked up at him. He thought his heart would burst with relief and joy alike. Weight had hoisted off his chest as he held her hand tight in his.

A breeze swept over the tops of the Wierwood to swaying the leaves. Robb looked up at the canopy of crimson leaves. He thanked his gods he had her, that they hadn't seen fit to take her from him. He understood Farren's faith to belonged to that tree and all those alike, and no man could speak falsehoods before a Wirewood.

Robb gazed down at gazed down at Farren, his face full of devotion, and a tenderness shining in his eyes, "I've fallen in love with you." He whispered, and his heart filled with zeal when Farren's lips twitched into a little smile, while her eyes shone with life. She ran her fingers along his cheek. He coveted them, and held her hand against his face, reveling in her warmth.

He cradled Farren in his arms, holding her as tight as he dared. She settled comfortably in his lap, head against his chest, a hand resting over his heart. Farren slumped heavily against him, and Robb began to worry that she was far too weak and weary. _I need to get you home._

He gazed at the horses while in thought. He decided it would be best if Farren rode with him, but when he suggested the idea she drowsily begged that they remain awhile longer. Taken as he was for her, he would do as she willed. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her head.

 _Even if you were able to ride yourself, I refuse to let you back on that accursed_ mare _._ Robb narrowed his eyes and scowled at the creature in question. The horse ignored Robb's sneer. She swatted her tail along her back as she grazed.

"Wildling nag." Robb scowled, then turned his attention to Farren. He allowed this to happen, why did he not shield his lady from harm. The weight of that failure lingered in his mind, even as he held her safe against him. A horse had trampled her while with she was him, and only by the gods' mercy was she alive. Robb felt his spirit grow wings when amazingly, Farren sat up on her knees and stretched. It was an impressive display of strength, and the sight left him awestruck.

She softly yawned and rubbed her head. "Robb, don't look downhearted. I'm fine. I'm still alive." She poked him softly in the chest, as a smile formed on her lips.

Her laughter loosened the knot in his chest. A bird chirped, and Robb gazed around him and saw it was morning. "I should take you home," He said as shifted to sit behind her, his arms wrapped around her's and the small of her back fit against his body. "My horse will carry us both. You shall not ride alone." Brushing her hair aside, he grazed his lips across her neck, taking in the scent of her skin. "Farren, I am sorry this happened." He whispered.

She turned to face him with glowing eyes, they traced his back and forth. "I heard you, Robb, what you spoke. Are your feelings-" she stopped there, seeming confused, hesitant, and most of all, unsure of what she may have heard.

Robb hesitated, unsure of what words to use. There was no simple approach in admitting how he felt, without knowing she had come to feel the same. The feeling that he failed her still lingered inside and masked his self-assurance.

"I..I admire you thoroughly, my lady. Your spirit amazes me." He contemplated his fondness for her, what had drawn him. She was beautiful and kind. Farren honored the laws of her fathers, she followed their traditions and lived by ideals set by the gods. And there was mettle inside her, a fierceness that had taken him by surprise. But, Farren let her heart decide her actions.

He met her gaze, and realized, suddenly, that her nature reminded him of his own. They held to honor, and family above all else, and justice came close behind.

 _You must know already that I am in love with you,_ Robb studied her soft face, Farren's eyes were the shade of the moon, and just as the moon's radiance charmed the wolf, she had the captured him.

"My lady, I find you fascinating."

"fascinating? And what is it about me that fascinates you, my lord?"

Taking her hand in his, he cradled her fingers and gazed into her eyes, "Do you wish to hear the entire list? He chuckled, "It is rather long, and I do not wish to bore you with compliments." Hearing the warm laughter of the women who defeated his senses, Robb found the courage bred within him, "But perhaps my lady, you will allow me to say that I've fallen in love with you." The words left his lips and made his heart pound. He'd never said this to a woman before. Her eyes stood still in shock, then sparkled in joy.

"I can say nothing less than the same. That I have fallen in love." Her lips raised and suddenly they were pressed against his, her jubilant laugh muffled by their mouths.

Robb's heart leaped from his chest. Abruptly, he lifted her onto him, so she straddled his lap, his lips touched hers and guided her movements firmly, with hands gripping her waist.

He trailed quick kisses over her cheek and under her chin, not noticing that her hair draped down like a curtain around them, the soft locks brushed like silk as he took her back into his lap. When she brought her lips to his ear he listened, "I am in love with all of you." She whispered softly, repeating her love for him over and over again, like the holiest prayer she'd ever whispered. Her words, the heat of her breath, and the sound of her voice lit a fire in him.

The yearning to lie with her had returned. Robb had felt it so often with Farren, and he denied himself every time, now that she said the words, he could deny no more. The feel of her on his lap, in his arms, kissing him, her whispering her love in his ear, it was too all much. Farren was a maiden and needed a man's guidance, perceiving the thought Robb held her by the hips and pulled and pushed her gently, so she stirred in his lap. He looked up at her, and with his eyes, he begged her to continue. She moved just as shown and began to grow hard. Deciding he no longer struggled with his past convictions, readmitting his sincerity. Gazing at her intensely, he wished to confess what he desired, and he saw in her eyes that she wanted the same. So suddenly, He crashed his lips against hers and kissed her hard, ran a hand through her hair, and let the other trail down her neck, then over her breast. Unexpectedly Her hand met his fingers, and she moved them closer to the laces at the front of her waistcoat and didn't let go until his fingers gripped the delicate cords. Robb tore at her clothes as she unlaced his jerkin, yanking at the leather cord that concealed his chest. A fire inside drove the raw nature of his body and mind. He swiftly unfastened his belt, loosening his britches, while his mouth worshiped hers with tongue and teeth and lips. He heard her let out a breathy moan as he tasted her.

When his jerkin and cotton shirt were finally off, and his chest was exposed to the cold night air, he rapidly untied the lacing of his pants. He wandered back up to touch her bared breasts, ran his fingers over her soft, unblemished skin. The wind caressed his back as his knees met fur cloak beneath them. Drawing Farren's body below him, He laid between her legs and pressing her between his chest and the fur cloak underneath. He was ready for her, and she was waiting with a pounding heart. Craving her in need, he bent her knee up beside his waist, with his fingers gripped her thigh as he shifted his hips forward.

He loudly exhaled chest as seized her maidenhood, a gasp echoed by the woman beneath him. She was tight and warm, and sweeter than anything he'd ever felt. Thrusting slowly and, on the verge he prayed not to lose himself instantly. She trembled and clung tightly to his shoulder and faintly murmured into his ear. The sound of her voice was cracked and discerning, and Robb knew she was tasting a maiden's pain. He hesitated, but with her hands wrapped behind his neck, she pulled him closer and begged him not to stop. Warming his ear with her breath, the delicate touch of her lips filled his head with thoughts he never had before...Farren would make an excellent mother, he realized suddenly. As he trusted into her, he strangely yearned for her to bear his children, to see her swell and know that she was his, just as he was hers.

 _I want to be yours and you to be mine. I swear to the gods that I will make you will be mine._ He pleaded, half hoping the gods heard him.

Robb kissed Farren hard and hummed in pleasure as the peak rapidly approached. He wanted the north to know of the hunger only he knew for his wife. How perfect she would be. His thoughts ran rapidly with needs and desires, he wished and yearned for every man to know that the lovely Farren was his. He would make her his wife, and he wanted the gods to see her receive him as a lady would her Lord. The thought aroused his instincts. She panted his name, and he closed his eyes and cringed, gasping for breath, as he spilled his seed deep inside her, bliss raced through him like an ocean wave and left him gasping for air.

He rolled beside her, breathing as he cradled her in a protective embrace. He panted, feeling his heartbeat race, he realized he had never laid with a woman with such enthusiasm. She brought out his primitive drive, and the notion revealed by the moisture on his lip and the sweat dampened hair in swiping across his brow. Their breathing slowed, his exhaustion in league with hers. Robb clutched her tightly, as she caught her breath. Together they recovered, drenched in heat, then Robb turned the fur cloak over them both and curled up behind Farren, pressing his chest against her back. He wrapped Farren securely in his arms, keeping her safe. She hummed, rolling in his arms to face him, a soft smile gracing her lips. Robb smiled back at her, delight filling his heart to see that grin on her face, and he could not stop himself from kissing her forehead. When she closed her eyes, he finally rested, a content smile remaining on his face.

The Weirwood saw them both. Robb gazed up at the god tree and the red leaves above, the old Wierwood looked down, watchful. He recognized the old gods and as sleep began to take him. He knew in their sight the old gods declared that he was Farren's, and she was his, and nothing could divide them.

. . .

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

 **Next Chapter Preview! -** Farren faces those who have spent a night searching for her. She is unsure of how to proceed when her mother's Knight blames Robb for her disappearance. Holly greets Farren with many questions and disturbing news. Farren's relationship with Robb becomes threatened by a concerning subject her mother reveals.

* * *

Sending back some love

Thank you all you guys for reading, also special thanks all those who have acknowledged this fic with their comments, you are much appreciated, xXRosexScorpiusXx, Darkwolf76, xXRoweenaJAugustineXx, xxGreywind, ThePhantomismyLove, ZabuzasGirl, Frailfawn, SunSweet, PotterxBreifsxUchihaxKiryuu, Barry, all guest commenters, and writingNOOB! :D Thank you, readers, commenters, and followers. You guys make writing fanfiction worthwhile.

Many thanks to Darkwolf76, lent her time and talent to refine this chapter as well as provide counsel and encouragement. She is a true friend and patron of many Fanfiction stories!x XRoweenaJAugustineX x, has extraordinary talents as a beta reader/writer. Thank you! To anyone who does not know this author's stories are fanfiction classics!


	14. From The Forest

Thank you all for sticking with reading! I want to say special thanks to those who commented last chapter! I love hearing what you have to say. Also personal thanks to darkwolf76 and xXRoweenaJAugustineXx for their friendship and Beta support, and Kaizer-Kid for the motivational support and helpful advice.

˙u˙ Enjoy!

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

* * *

Farren woke from her sleep nestled warmly in her lover's arms. He stirred, pulled her closer into a chest. Every moment, every touch lingered in her mind, The warmth of his skin, His hands that traveled her back and hips, feeling the strength of his frame as he held himself atop her. The soft moan escaped her lips as his hips greeted her own. Even the pain that clenched her eyes, the discomforting shock of pain remaining until a breaking moan escaped his lips ringing softly in her ear. She knew they finally were one. The ache she felt continued throughout her body. Her inner thigh smeared with the crimson-colored proof that she was no longer a maiden.

She turned to face him, A soft appeased smile sat naturally on his lips, his blue eyes watched her, intimate and content. He met her gaze the way her father looked at her mother. Farren understood that Her father had an undying love for her mother. Her parent's marriage was not one arranged. They had fallen in love and chose to wed one another. Much like she would do with Robb. They had lain together, and She was now his, as he was hers.

The sound of the river beckoned her. Grinning, She pulled Robb's half of the cloak fully around her and rose quickly to her feet. Racing through the trees, she heard him shouting and laughing behind her. Wet moss caressed her toes as she neared the river. It ran softly to a point, forming two clear pools. The water flowed calmly, circling into the tiny ripples.

The water was surely like ice, but Farren did not hesitate, she gave a shriek that dissolved into laughter as she dipped her whole body in the icy bath, it prickled and numbed her skin. With the pad of her foot on a stone, she pushed toward the middle of the pool. River gravel tickled the tips of her toes. She softly tread the water. She saw Robb sitting on the banks, wrapped in his fur cape. Dripping wet, He shivered with a smile at her. It seemed he could not endure the rivers chill.

"My Lord, is the water not to your liking?" Farren asked Robb and dawned a jesting grin.

"I would enjoy it more if it were not freezing." Robb quivered under his cloak, pulling his knees to his chest. Farren laughed, "Yes, the perfect temperature for a Northman and you are a Northman. Not just any Northman, you are to be warden of the North!" Farren yelled to the tree tops as she floated onto her back. She heard Robb laugh. "Aye, and I'd hope not to freeze before the time comes. You, my lady, are going to catch a cold."

Farren smiled, the cold water tasted crisp and the clear liquid chilled her tongue as she took a mouthful and spluttered in an upward in a delicate rivulet. "I am a fountain of Dorne." She pretended once more, tilting her head back as water streamlined from her lips. Droplets trickled down rippling the water around her. Robb dried his hair with his cloak, rubbing away the damp, "I've heard men say the water gardens of Dorne are beautiful to behold. I doubt their fountains can contend with you, my lady."

His compliment she found inspiring, and she scooped up a dainty mouthful and released the water gracefully into the air. A few droplets landed on her forehead, and Robb laughed.

Robb stood still, and suddenly quiet, Farren heard a man shout in the distance. The noise came from afar, near the forest edge or beyond. The searching voice called incomparably through the trees accompanied by others. Farren heard her name called in several calls and the sound of horse hooves, one backing the other.

"My Lady?!"

"My Lady, Farren Frith are you near?!"

Stirred by the sound, Farren hurried out of the river. "Sound's like riders," Robb said as he wrapped her in his cloak as she peered through the endless forest trees. "My mother must have sent them to search for me," Farren said, shuffling quickly to dress, hopping, as She pulled on her boot. Brushing herself off, she ruffled her dark hair, fixing the look and making sure a few locks fell just so to cover the cut above her eyebrow.

The shouts sounded again, and Robb looked hesitant, nervous as he took both horses by the lead. Farren eyed him with a reassuring gaze, and He found courage, straightening his back as they reached the forest edge and out into the valley. They were hailed by a shout then the thunder of hooves. A rider rose in the meadow, heading toward them, a company of horseman and banners at his back. The sight of Frith banners made Farren's hand twitch anxiously. She held her fingers in her palm and squeezed them, forcing a greeting smile on her face.

Robb stood silently, with his face like stone, a clear statement that he was nervous. Farren had no time to reassure him night was justified.

To mask the discomfort, Farren promptly addressed the approaching horseman with a curtsey. "g-Good afternoon Captain."

The rider came to a halt before her. Sitting atop the stallion was Yorick Tierney, her Father's captain. Tall, lean and fair-haired, Lord Tierney was a man similar to her mother's age. House Tierney was the closest and most reliable vassal to House Frith, and Farren knew the Lord Yorick to be a reasonable man, with a friendly demeanor.

Though it worried her now, as he wore no smile. "My Lady. You had worried us all." He said with a breath of relief. "Your Lady mother has not slept. We have been searching for you restlessly. We feared something worst might have happened."

As he spoke, Farren watched the captain's gaze fall on Robb. "I am afraid something did, and so is the reason I could not deliver Lady Farren." Robb addressed the man, he held the reins of the mare tightly in his hand and tugged slightly.

"A riding accident befell my lady. She was thrown from her horse and the beast-"

"There was a wolf in the wood," Farren interjected. "It frightened my mare. I lost control, and she threw me, I lost my senses when I hit the ground. Lord Robb, tried to rouse me the night through, he cared for me until I woke. Which I finally did, no more or less than an hour ago." Farren smiled up at the captain, who mimicked her expression.

 _Good. He believes the whole story._ She nervously thought.

The silence that fell over the group shook Farren's nerves. She sought to ease the tension by making introductions. _It is a proper politeness._ She reminded herself as an effort to remain calm. Delicately she held out a hand and addressed Robb in an appropriate fashion, "My Lord, may I properly introduce my Father's captain, Lord Tierney of Weeping Weir."

Between the two men, the small utterance of a greeting did nothing to ease the strain in the air. Farren glanced around at the other men on horseback. They were seven faces in all, and each wore a blank expression, several of the men had dark circled eyes, and Farren realized they had likely searched the whole night through, on account of her disappearance. Intense guilt tormented her further. It was best to put on a mask of propriety, and Farren found she could not act otherwise. It seemed easier to avoid the answers each man secretly wished to hear. These were her Grandfather's bannermen, and they knew not to scold or question the granddaughter of their liege. So they would remain silent, with the odd, judging looks on their faces, all but Captain Tierney who suddenly smiled at Robb. "We thank you, my Lord for ending our search," He said, his eyes caught Farren's cheerfully, "by delivering us our young troublesome young Lady."

Smiling, Farren silently thanked the captain for making light of the situation. She stood up poised and kept her voice proper as she spoke "I too am thankful, I found myself lucky to have had Lord Robb as my guardian, he-"

"You call him your guardian?" came a low growl in Farren's ear. She heard the hidden voice came up from behind and saw a horse circling and gazed up at the horseman. "Guardian. Should that term truly be implemented in describing our young lord? Given the effort, he has shown," growled the rider who glared down at Robb, "I dare say, the title of a guardian does not suit this one."

In appalling shock, Farren looked at the man aloft. It took great effort not to scold the man, but she knew her mother would be furious. The outspoken rider was the old knight, Ser Alyson Tantale. He vowed his allegiance to Holly when she was a young girl, serving as her sworn shield every day since.

He sat taller than all the other men and was the eldest of the group. He had silver hair, a clean-shaven face. The knight's eyes looked sullen and angry. The right was a faint powder blue, and the left was clouded and pale, almost white. Both eyes he kept his eyes on Robb. Ser Alyson Tantale was not an uncivil man, he was quiet and cordial, and he was known as a man of honor. Though Farren had seen a lowering side of him before, his facial features would darken in a similar slighting manner when in the company of Lord Bolton. Farren knew the knight bore no respect for the Lord, but she requestioned the knight's honor as she saw the same ill-mannered expression he showed Robb. "You've acted as no guardian boy. Else you'd have dealt with protecting the young lady. And not justified your failure with an excuse."

Farren saw anger flash across Robb's face. She heard him breathe in deeply as he tilted his head back and met the knight's gaze. "I apologize Ser. You merit the right to judge me for not returning Lady Farren and causing you all worry. But do not accuse me of being irresponsible with her safety. She has been my only concern."

"-And so we are all grateful my lord." Said Captain Tierney swiftly, his expression challenged the knight to say no more, the look in his eyes pressing for compliance. "We are all much obliged, as is Ser Alyson."

The Knight opposed the captain with a scowl, and he glared at the captain, then clicked his tongue for his horse to trot and sauntered past Tierney. The captain looked away avoiding the man's sharp glare. To Farren's surprise, Robb had ignored the offensive knight. He seemed to yield, as he politely nodded to Captain Tierney.

Farren had wished she was laying back in Robb's arms. The harsh northern wind whipped within Farren's ears, casting her hair across her eyes. She glanced back at the treeline and saw the wind had seized the fallen leaves and scattered the, after her from the forest, the dead leaves danced across the meadow grass, the crunching sound that made her remember summer was coming to an end. Farren gazed ahead at the assembly of men on horseback. She frowned, thinking each had a judgment or an opinion, just as Ser Alyson had, only they were not bold enough to say. She glanced at Robb, who watched her from the corner of his eye, he turned for a moment wearing an intimate smile, and his deep blue eyes reassured her.

 _Everything will be fine._

* * *

 _S_ un shined softly over the green Northern landscape, and the air was pleasantly warm, tempered perfectly by the breeze. The lovely weather contrasted sharply with the tense atmosphere of the Firth party that neared the Kingsroad. The sight made Farren uneasy, for she knew the road would have them back at Aurum Keep in an hour, and where she would be sure to face her mother's wrath. Though She had suffered an accident, she was certain Holly would not be pleased with her disappearing with Robb Stark.

She glanced upward and saw the sun decided to hide suddenly, leaving a rather bleak, gray sky. The black rabbit of Frith whipped about on banners in the wind. The sound of the horses' pounding the dirt broke the heavy silence as a party of riders moved toward the Frith company. The men carried the banners of the gray Direwolf and adorned Stark livery. At the head of the small band, rode Robb's father, Lord Eddard. Farren noticed the nervous look in Robb's eyes, and he muttered something too soft to comprehend. She saw him grip his horse's reigns and could practically hear his heart pounding with doubt.

Lord Stark, atop his stallion, had the look of a northern monarch, with his full fur cloak and great sword at his side, the bitter looking man greeted his subjects warmly. As he addressed the Frith captain, Tierney, Lord Stark's eyes gazed elsewhere, disapproving, the look in his eyes challenged his son for a credible explanation. Lord Stark and Captain Tierney discussed the matter briefly. Farren was caught off guard when Lord Stark asked her if she fared well through the night, to which she nodded mutely in response.

To discuss the situation further, Lord Stark and Captain Tierney pulled away from the group, speaking in low tones. They kept in sight, and Farren noticed how Robb's eyes did not stray from the men's forms.

Robb sat beside Farren, he shifted in his saddle, his eyes cast low. "He said nothing to me, He only looked at me." He whispered, "And I said nothing. I should have spoken first. I would have, but it wasn't my place. mM' sorry Farren."

When he mumbled an apology, Farren pursed her lips and held a sigh. She would agree with him and wished he fought for the first word, the first explanation regardless. She felt something brush her fingertips and gazed down to see Robb take hold of her palm and at once, her fingers curled around his, twining and twisting round until their fingers were locked together, hands hidden by their horses and cloaks. It did not matter to Farren. She knew he'd hold her close had they been alone. "I promise I will speak to my father," Robb stated softly. "I will tell him how I feel about you."

Farren smiled to herself. She to would tell her mother and father alike. Lord Stark trotted up the hill, his horse followed closely by Tierney's. "Well then we best get you home Robb, your mother has been horribly worried."

"I was hoping to escort Lady Farren back to her mother, and I'd like to apologize to her as well as ensure my ladies safe return."

"I'm certain Captain Tierney can see to that just fine. Come. Your mother still has yet to receive word from you. It would not be wise to have her wait much longer."

"Then I will send a raven from Aurum Keep. When I see Farren is home safe."

"I intend for Lady Frith to hear from us soon. You can write Lady Farren from Winterfell." Lord Stark said firmly, he eyed his son with a warning gaze, then turned and nodded to Lord Tierney. "Thank you, for your time Captain. Have a pleasant evening my lords, my lady."

Tierney nodded as the Lord passed on horseback, his banners turned to follow in his wake. "Robb." Lord Stark shifted his eyes and motioned his head forward. "Come."

Farren watched her lover's eyes jump from his father to his bannermen and suddenly her own. She felt his grip tighten around her hand and sensed the tearing emotion inside him. Again His father called for him to follow, his tone of voice was stern and commanding, more so than the one Farren knew. She saw Robb swallow, as his sweating palm nearly slipped from hers.

Farren decided she could not come between the son and sire, nor could she cause Robb pain a moment more. A rain drop of hit her forehead and a light snow flurry drifted in the gray landscape. Farren gazed at Robb reluctantly, "Go. I will see you soon." She cooed and mimicked the slight grin he wore. "I promise I will speak with him," Robb whispered as he brought the back of her hand to his lips. Farren held his kiss on her knuckles as he rode away, glancing back at her with reassuring eyes. Or at least she saw them so.

* * *

Everyone at Aurum castle had come to see her throughout the afternoon. Lord Aurum, his wife, their children even the castle attendants came to console her with a kind word about the bruise on her head, or a steely admonishment for the mare's poor actions. Lord Aurum declared he would have the horse slain for her violent behavior, but Farren quickly begged that he spare the animal's life and, after a short sniff of surprise the young Lord granted her request. Exhausted, Farren just hoped the whole ordeal would soon be forgotten.

After dinner, Farren sat alone in a high window in the Aurum guest tower and watched the sun turn the sky orange. The setting sun tinted the valley in shades of brilliant gold and blazing orange. Leaning on the window ledge, she imagined Robb on horseback, riding through the golden grass straight towards her. The image was a sight more beautiful than any sunset. In her mind, she saw him riding through the castle gates, running up the tower steps and stealing her away. She sighed at the thought.

Wistfully, she breathed in the cold northern air, smelled fire, and absently listened to the muffled voices of the men who lingered in the courtyard below. Her eyes fell upon the smithery below her, where Ser Alyson Tantale leaned aginst one of the wooden frame posts, sluggishly polishing his sword. Farren was tempted to spit on the Knight from above. Tantale was a quiet man, Farren found he was hardly talkative, even in the tilt-yard, when working with Hazel, the man would whisper his instructions in proximity to Hazel. The knight was wise in weaponry and skilled with a sword. It was these attributes that won him a place in the Warren. Had he no talent Blackaver would not tolerate the man to train Hazel.

What business does a Knight from the Stormlands have the North? Farren had heard the question hundreds of times over, and she was never certain how to answer. Her mother had told her the tale only the day she asked. Holly came from a house of diminishing wealth. House Auklet had never known wealth, but in the last few generations, the Auklets knew struggle. Over the years much of the land they once owned had been sold or taken. The smallfolk fled their lands to earn better livings. Holly was born as the sixth child and only daughter to Lord Auklet. Her families ancestral keep stood on a grassy plateau beside a cliff on the coast of the Shivering Sea. The Lord of the dying house would not see his home crumble and plunge into the icy waves. A year had to go by before Holly accepted that her lord father had abandoned her family. He fled in the night, took one man, said no farewell and left no note. Tantale had been eighteen when He offered Holly his shield. The young man showed up at her father's keep one evening as a stranger, unknown. A knight from the Stormlands, from house Tantale, declared to Tarth, came north to pledge his life to an orphaned noble girl.

His story was, to Farren, sad. She pitied the Knight, and yet she still wished to spit on him for what he'd said to Robb. She would not dare, for this man would give his life for her or her mother. Beside the Knight rested his heavy kite shield, the sigil of House Tantale had nearly faded off. Farren's eyes fell upon the washed-out image of a black and gray stork. In the tips of its black beak, it held a yellow star, the golden color still glowed.

"A raven has arrived from Winterfell."

A voice startled Farren, and She turned her eyes away from the window. Holly had entered the room so quietly the Farren had had not know she was there.

"From Winterfell? When?" Farren asked as she crossed the room and took the rolled parchment from her mother's hand.

"Just after dinner," Holly said. "It's from Lord Eddard. He's invited us to dine with his family, at the week's end."

Farren desperately scanned the thin parchment several times as she turned in her hands. To her great disappointment, the letter was merely an apology and a dinner invite.

 _This is all? This is it?_ Farren thought as she re-read the civil summons of Lord Eddard Stark. Where was the letter Robb had promised to send her? Lord Eddard didn't even mention his son in the short note. /But there must be more?/ Farren thought as she stared intently at the letter, wishing desperately that further writing would magically appear. Hopelessly, she flipped the scroll in her fingers once more.

"I was planning on us leaving the valley by week's end." Holly sighed. "If the invitation was from anyone other than Lord Stark I'd be apt to decline."

 _Decline the Starks?_ Farren thought amazed. Shocked, she gazed at her mother. "Decline?"

"I cannot say I'm pleased to have to alter our plans," Holly said as she settled into a large comfortable chair by the hearth, bending her knees to her chest, she reached for a brass goblet filled with wine.

Farren turned to her, with the letter in hand, "Dining with the Stark's is an honor. Are you not the least bit excited?"

"I was eager to return home. Travel plans are not that easily done and undone," Holly said to her daughter with slight reproach.

"They are if Lord Stark invites you to dinner."

"Invite? A better term would be, a summons." Holly frowned, she rested her chin on her first and gazed into the hearth fire before sipping more wine. "But I've yet to find a decent enough excuse for us not to attend."

Farren turned the parchment in her hands, looking away with a scowl. Holly had praised Lord Stark and called him an honorable man. But it was evident Ser Alyson had poisoned her mind with his prejudice opinion. She had likely spoken to him about Robb and received an inordinately biased report. Farren pressed her lips into a tight line as angered swelled in her. "Your knight could outright insist that we leave the valley before weeks end. You ought to let him write Lord Stark," Farren snapped bitterly enough to grab Holly's attention.

"What sort of idea is this?" Holly asked with a raised brow.

"Ser Alyson would likely-"

"Ser Alyson would not insult them so," Holly said simply. She rose and walked over to the chamber table, large copper-colored, wooden and covered with scrolls and parchments. She spread the clutter, then picked through the parchments before fixing her daughter with a sharp gaze. "I know what your thinking, and as it is, his judgments have no influence on my decisions. I want to leave this valley because your brothers miss us and want us to come home."

Holly pushed two folded parchments to Farren, one with a broken seal. "That was from Verek. He addressed it to me, but I thought you ought to read it," Holly said as she retreated to her seat and goblet, curling up in the cushioned chair. From afar, she pointed at the second parchment in Farren's hands and sipped from her cup. "mmm...The other is for you, from Hazel."

The hearth fire crackled, and Farren sighed softly, she ran her finger's along the two folded letters, neither from Robb Stark. "I'll read them in my bed chamber," she said, turning to the door, as she bore a frown.

"-Farren."

Holly called, and Farren halted at the chamber door. She glanced over her shoulder, and suddenly she saw a small scroll sail through the air. It landed on the wooden table and started to roll. As it fell from the table edge, Farren caught it between the two letters she held. She tucked the parchment's under her arm and examined it eagerly. A thin paper spiral with an unbroken Direwolf seal. The tiny writing on the edge of the scroll read,

 _-Addressed to Farren of House Frith from Robb Stark of Winterfell.-_

Farren clasped a hand over her mouth to hide her ecstatic joy, and she glanced up at her mother. Holly wore a soft grin. Holly's eyes warmly shined at her before returning to the hearth fire.

* * *

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

 **Next Chapter Preview-** **Farren finds hope in Robb's letter but is down-hearted and troubled by her brother's accounts of home. A drastic event leads Holly to make a sudden decision.**

 **...**

Thanks again for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment. ˙u˙


	15. Mixed Messages

Hi, everyone! Thanks for reading! I had not intended this chapter to be so long! It is the longest yet. I apologize if there's a lot to take in. Hopefully, that is a good thing. :) Thank you, thank you, thank you to darkwolf76 and xXRoweenaJAugustineXx for their help with this chapter. I definitely recommend checking out their pages. They have written some great GOT fics.

 **Chapter preview- Farren receives several letters, messages from home spark mysteries in her mind.**

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

* * *

Barring the door to her chamber, Farren skipped into the room, tossed her brothers' letters on the table and sprang onto the bed. Grinning with glee, she settled deep into the feather stuffed bed and held Robb's letter above her.

The parchment seemed to shimmer in the golden firelight. She ran her fingers over the smooth paper and the waxy gray seal that displayed the gray Direwolf sigil of House Stark. She traced seal's edge with a thumb then opened it carefully. With the wax lifted, the scroll unraveled so fast it slipped from her fingers and landed on her chest.

"Ugh, come back here you." Farren wrinkled her nose, and gathered it up quickly, with a murmured command. "Stop curling up, you tiny thing."

The flimsy parchment was less than two fingers in width. Scrolls delivered by ravens were small enough that birds might carry them. Raven's provided letters by the fastest means, but they usually conveyed short messages. Robb's penmanship was little in size, unitedly, crammed together, yet charming. As she gazed at the jumbled black ink, a laugh escaped Farren, and she grinned at Robb's greeting,

...

 ** _My Princess of rabbits,_**

 ** _I vow I will marry you someday. I wish that day were tomorrow, but I regret to say, my father insisted that such a matter can not happen overnight. Honestly, I do not see any reason as to why we can not marry when we choose, for I have fallen deeply in love with you. I swear we will be together soon._**

 ** _Yours devoted,_**

 ** _Robb_**

 _..._

Clutching the scroll to her lips, Farren could feel her heart hunger for more, she grew melted by Robb's compassion and wit. He had called her his princess of rabbits. The first night they met, he called her something akin to that, in homage to her ancestor's title, the prince of rabbits. His humor and sentiment endeared her and reddened her cheeks. She wished the scroll were bigger and there more, it seemed too short. In truth, She hoped Robb would have announced he was to ride to the Aurum keep in the morning and ask her for her hand. Farren sighed and reread his promise to wed her. He was hers and, she his. Despite the abruptness of their affair, she knew Robb Stark to be a man of his word. She would not worry, after all, first his father would need to speak to her grandfather to arrange their betrothal.

 _Stark and Frith will form a grand alliance._ Grasping the scroll to her chest, Farren laughed heartily. She did not care for politics, only Robb mattered, nothing else.

Giggling like a young girl, Farren rolled across the bed, coddling the scroll, careful not to tear Robb's precious words. After a moment of glee she rested on her back and gazed up at the wooden rafters, thoughts of marriage filled her head. The Warren's God's Wood glowing and decorated, her perfect gown the color of snow, and most of all, thoughts of Robb. She could not wait for the week to end, and the dinner at Winterfell she and her mother would attend. There was only one logical reason for the invite Farren knew.

/Surely Lord Stark would not wait long to purpose the marriage offer./ She had no doubt, even if the Lord did not seem enthused with his son's behavior. Perhaps he was just in a poor mood. Robb stayed out all night after all.

Suddenly, Farren's eyes grew wide, a knot of nerves grew in her chest. She wondered if Lord Eddard inquired about the evening prior, what details would Robb divulge, would he speak of their romance in detail? If asked to tell, would Robb honor his Lord Father with the truth? Would he reveal their actions in the wood, that he'd taken her virtue? Farren felt dizzy at the thought, and though she knew no aspect of the conversation between father and son, she felt strangely exposed.

As her imagination began to run wild, She shifted back to the side of the bed next to the bedside table and exchanged Robb's letter one of the others. This letter was large, it had come by horse, rather than a bird, and was much longer than Robb's tiny scroll. At the sight of the neat penmanship, Farren hummed with delight. She recognized her brother Verek's handwriting immediately. Cascading ivy encased illuminated words, rich in color and drawn without error. Farren held the paper up close for a better look at the flowing lines. She thought of her brother creating the beautiful work surrounded by ink dipped with all different quills. A large ornate letter "D" started the top paragraph with the words "Dear mother." Holly insisted she read Verek's letter. Farren pressed her lips. She knew the reason was likely in his writing,

...

 ** _Dear Mother,_**

 ** _I miss you dearly. Since you've left, the warmth and happiness of Warren seem to fade with each passing day. In grandfather's stead, Lord Bolton charged father to serve as the guard to his trade adviser. They left for the capital yesterday. Grandfather and Hazel have fought every day since you've gone. Grandfather has limited our free time and filled our afternoons with training exercises. He requires his obedience without question, else he will discipline us. I know you've always taught us to have courage, but it took me days to gather enough to ask grandfather the question,- Need we all suffer for Hazel's lack of decorum? He called me a boy and said I was as audacious as you, mother. He meant to shame me, but take it as a great compliment. Though, he claimed you taught me insolence. I know he is wrong, I wish you were here to tell him just so. I wish I were brave enough to stand up to Grandfather as you do, Mother. He did not tolerate such "insolence," and he punished me harshly. I think of you often. All of us at Warren miss you and eagerly wait to hear of your return, I most of all. Give my best to Farren._**

 ** _Your loving son,_**

 **Verek**

 _..._

Farren read her brother's name aloud and frowned. Guilt weighed heavy on her, knowing she had been living without thought of the Warren or her brothers for the last several weeks, too consumed with Robb and Winterfell, she had not thought of home or her brothers. Farren knew this report was the reason her mother desired her to read Verek's letter. With both her parents gone, there was no one to protect her siblings from Grandfather's stubborn control. When left in charge of her brothers, Blackaver always did what he considered best for them, a rigid routine and strict training. Holly knew the man had her sons living as soldiers night and day, pushing them beyond reason, and punishing their minor shortcomings and small mistakes.

 _No wonder Mother want's to return home._

Farren thought, then she remembered something odd she read in the letter. It was unusual for Lord Bolton to require her father's service over her grandfather's. Blackaver outranked Ven, and he was a much closer confidant to the Lord of the Dreadfort than his son ever could hope to be. Stranger was the fact that her father was a cavalry officer, not an escort or guardsman. _Why would he send Father?_ Farren pondered, she shrugged the thought out of mind. Lord Bolton's decision to send him away was both unexpected and unfortunate.

Folding Verek's letter into thirds, Farren pressed the parchment together and placed the letter aside and picked up the last letter from the night stand. The letter donned a poorly poured emerald wax seal, stamped with a skewed version of the rabbit of Frith. She broke the seal and opened the letter, shaking her head at the equally messy writing. She could barely decipher the smudged and scratched words with random splotches of black ink dotting the white parchment. Her brother Hazel's penmanship would make a maester weep. Hazel had always possessed great skill as a swordsman, but he could not save his life if he had his blade replaced with a pen. Since he was a small child, Hazel had excelled in almost everything but penmanship. No matter how much Hazel tried, his writing always came out looking like chicken scratch. Farren recalled the day when she'd told him he was a horrible writer. That had been a mistake. Only nine at the time, Hazel entered a loathsome rage and broke every quill in Warren castle, even Grandfather's prized goose feather quills. Blackaver gave him the harshest beating. Farren remembered Hazel objecting with roars of his hatred for pens and ink. From then to date, His penmanship remained the same. As she opened the blemished paper, Farren shook her head and sighed. Squinting to make out Hazel's writing, she read,

...

 ** _Farren-_**

 ** _I do hope our cousin is still alive. I assume she is remarkably ill seeing as it has been nearly a moon since you set out to care for her. Grandfather has turned the Warren into a prison since your departure. He's made my life a torment. When he doesn't have me sparring in the tilt-yard, he has me on my knees before the heart tree in "prayer and reflection." I think the old gods have grown tired of me by now. Yesterday, I'd had enough. I figured I'd gone mad, I cursed at Grandfather and said words I dare not write, in case_ mother _should read this. His reaction was what you would think. As I write you now, I can feel still feel the burning strips left across my shoulders and back. It has taken all my strength not to strike him in return. I've told Grandfather a thousand times that Ramsay Snow is a damn liar. I even mentioned that the bastard called him "the bunny prince." Of corse, he ignored me, and he decided I must make amends with Lord Bolton's son. So next week, he and I are to go hunting with Lord Bolton's bastard. I look forward to meeting that bloody prick again._**

 ** _Come home._ Fiver _misses you._**

 ** _-H_**

 _..._

Farren frowned worriedly. The letter was not exactly heartfelt and the thought of Hazel meeting the Bolton bastard again troubled her greatly. In the dim candlelight, Farren spotted the outline of writing on the other side of the letter. She flipped the paper and saw penmanship of a better quality than Hazel's. She recognized Fiver's handwriting. Her youngest brother apparently had his words to add on the back of the parchment. She smiled at his message and read,

...

 ** _Dear big sister,_**

 ** _I want to tell you about a funny dream I had about you. I wish I could have written you a proper letter, but Hazel ruined a whole roll of parchment because his pen kept slipping and bleeding ink everywhere. Dolt. There is a whole other roll of parchment, but Hazel insisted that I had to write on the back of his letter because grandfather would be angry if we used all the writing paper in the Warren. He's the one who made a mess, not me. Hazel can't write! Shawna Tierney wrote Hazel a poem, did you know that's the girl he likes to kiss? And that's not all Hazel likes, I heard that he likes to≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈_**

 _..._

Farren narrowed her eyes at the scribbled letter. The rest of message was unreadable. The words scribbled over. Hazel had likely seen something, not to his liking, possibly embarrassing, and had scratched it out. Hazel was a man grown, but at times he could behave like a child. Farren rolled her eyes. Whatever Hazel liked to do with Captain Tierney's daughter, she was better off not knowing. The captain's daughter, Lin, was a close friend of hers since they were young girls. Lin was a virgin. Farren knew Blackaver would never marry Hazel to his bannerman's daughter. Thinking about it further, it had bothered her that Hazel took her into his bed, it troubled her that her situation was similar. But not too similar...Not at all.

 _Not at all._ Farren felt a heavy knot in her chest, she shuffled under the bed furs and tucked her knees to the chest. She rolled to her side focused on her bedside candle, watching the wax roll slowly down the stem before blowing it out the flame.

 _"Farren..." a gentle voice called._

 _When she opened her eyes, Farren stood before the heart tree, dressed in a white gown. Her dark hair braided back with northern white violets draped over her cape of the soft furs the snowshoe hare. Her brother's had boastfully obtained them for her wedding gown. The three young men stood among, her mother and grandfather. Her father stood proudly beside her. Robb Stark stood before them with Lord Eddard at his side. Red Weirwood leaves hung in the air. The gods hear their vows, and as Farren spoke, she found herself captivated by Robb's blue eyes. She breathed in the cold northern air as her heart called out. Yes. Yes. I take this man._

 _The moment the words left her lips, she was laying in Robb's bed. His naked frame loomed above hers, the muscles in his abdomen warmed her navel, and his lips devoured hers, the sensation of his tongue swept over hers. She throbbed for him to take her, her lips issued a silent plea as he pulled her thigh and wrapped her leg high around his waist and closed her eyes. Strangely, Her nose tingled with the smell of fresh morning grass. Farren opened her eyes, and Robb was gone, he disappeared, had he even been there? Farren wondered as she found herself sitting alone in a green field._

 _Gazing over the grassy expanse, Farren saw a forest growing on the field's edge, and became curious of what might reside within. She followed a path leading through its tall grass to the treeline. The winding trail lead to the treeline and the sound rushing water. Around a bend, ran a wide river that cut through the trees. The current moved slowly, rolling over river boulders and stones. Chunks of weathered ice clung to the riverbank, melted and washed with mud and silt._

 _As Farren surveyed the scenery, she realized that the forest was familiar; its birds and their songs and the hidden trails through the trees, she knew them, she'd been here before. She was standing on the banks of the Weeping Water, a Bolton river that flowed from the Dreadfort to the Shivering Sea and ran through the Warren along the way._

 _Every morning deer would venture the banks to drink from its fresh waters, and sometimes wade through the current to step out on the other side of the river. She'd watch them from her chamber window in Warren castle. She was home._

 _"Farren!" a gentle voice called. Farren startled and turned on her heel. A boy of about eleven years of age walked toward her a black rabbit nestled in his arms. Farren studied him as he moved closer and saw her youngest brother. He stood garbed in leather jerkin vest and pants tucked into small laced riding boots. Tawny colored fur draped his shoulders laying atop his dark brown cloak. Whispy beige hair swept across his forehead resting above his emerald eyes._

 _"Fiver?" She questioned with little doubt it was him. He smiled and affirmed himself with a nod._

 _"Fiver where are we? Is that the Weeping water river? Is this...Are we home?"_

 _"Maybe," Fiver said. "It kinda looks like the Warren. But I'm not sure where this place is exactly. I only know that sometimes I come here in my dreams."_

 _"In your dreams?"_

 _"Yeah I know the glen and valley well. I also know the turnip fields and cabbage groves, but I rarely go there because the farmer has a dog."_ Fiver _shrugged. "I've never seen you in the clover patches. I'm happy you're here."_ Fiver _said with a smile. He stepped leisurely around her then took her hand, balancing the rabbit in one arm. "But why are you here?"_

 _"I..," Farren looked up the tree tops as a single leaf fell, "I, I don't know really." She said the small leaflet fluttered slowly downward, and Farren watched it twirl in the gray sky until she heard Fiver laugh, she looked down, and he smiled up at her, "I saw Hazel earlier in the clover patch. He told me he'd stolen a cabbage from the eastern field. Hazel isn't afraid of the farmer's dog. Nothing scares Hazel. One day Farren, I will be as bold as him. I'm just not ready. But when my legs grow stronger, I will learn the burrows and tunnels and run them as swiftly as Hazel."_

 _"I..I don't understand?" Farren shook her head looked at her brother, "What...what are you-?"_

 _Meeting her eyes, Fiver grinned, "Sometimes when I go to sleep, I become a rabbit in my dreams."_

 _"A rabbit?" Farren said as realization dawned on her._ Fiver _had the gift of her ancestor Frith, Frith who could see and hear and walk in a rabbit's skin. He did so in his dreams, donning the rabbit's fur by night, and shedding it to walk like a man in the day. "Like the dreams father speaks of." Farren said as she looked at her brother, "You, Hazel,_ Verek _, Father and Grandfather, you all have these dreams. You change your skin..."_

 _"Mmmhmm" Fiver smiled, Farren tried to smile back, but her mouth twitched into a solemn expression. She did not have the gift of her fathers, the gift of Frith. Then why was she here?_

 _Suddenly, Farren turned her head suddenly when she heard a rustling sound. The noise traveled from a low-lying tundra bush. Farren and Fiver felt no alarm. They watched from yards away the bush started to wriggle and shake. Ground hedges were likely homes of voles and mice. But the Rabbit that showed itself presented Farren with genuine warmth. The rabbit was the sigil of House Frith, and Farren treasured all sightings of the animal, taking them as signs from the gods that good fortune would be hers. She marveled at the rabbit who poked its head out of the shrub, it stretched out its neck and investigated the horizon, then gazed down to the clover covered grass._

 _The rabbit shook its nose and then leaped into the open glade. Perching in the lowland grass sat a regal young buck, a male rabbit in his prime, with fur as black as tar, sleek and majestic. Snow began to fall softly through the trees and dusted the greenery around him. The animal and his surroundings reminded her of her house's sigil, a black rabbit on a field of white over green. He planted his forefeet and held his ears upright. The brilliant rabbit looked as dignified and noble as any lion, or_ stag _._

 _Farren watched the handsome rabbit stomp his back leg twice on the ground, shaking the grass and sending flakes of snow into the air. Behind the rabbit, the shrub rustled once more and out hopped several black rabbits._

 _There were six in all that joined the large buck and bounced around the clearing and grazed on the ground clover as the buck rabbit watched stood watch, still, attentive and sure. A protective father, she thought. Farren watched as he turned his head, and lifted his ears, his ebony eyes connecting with hers._

Fiver _, who stood at her side, stroked the rabbit in his arms then knelt and released the animal in the grass. "Go on now." He urged the freed creature, and it moved off with small bounces. Farren watched it hopped by to rejoin the others._

 _"Go to your family," Fiver spoke of the rabbit who rejoined the group. Fiver eyed the giant black rabbit. "Wow, look at him, Farren." He said pointing to the giant black rabbit. "He's just like the rabbit on our banners. He-" Fiver paused when the buck grew still as stone, it's ears signaled to the sky, with a stomp of his foot he gave an order. Clover and grass churned up into the air as he the other rabbits hastily fled the clearing. Only the doe rabbit remained. Farren looked the rabbit in the eye, though the rabbit gazed beyond._

 _"She sees something," She whispered to Fiver, she cautiously surveyed the woods around her. A variety of leaves carpeted the forest floor, half covered by the snow in little patches. Patches of orange and blemished yellows concealed fallen twigs and branches that would crack underfoot. The never ending trees spread over acres, Farren considered herself lost in the density of trees, tall and scattered they confused her sense of direction, filling her mind with a terrible sense of vulnerability. She and Fiver, traveled weaponless, unprotected by both beast and man._

 _Suddenly, a loud "crack" emanated from the trees. Startled, Farren looked around. She noticed a sound of something trampling the leaves in the forest undergrowth. Whoever or whatever was traveling the forest heavy. Farren trembled knowing something moved among them._

 _She gripped Fiver's cloak and pulled him near. "Fiver, something is in these woods, it's..." Farren paused, her mouth ran dry, and her heart hastened as the noise approached. She shuttered, gripped her little brother's hand, and held her breath hoping to forego a greeting with the forest prowler._

 _The crunching sound moved closer, "Keep still," she whispered to Fiver as she gazed forward. The petrified rabbit stared at the dark creature that loomed behind them._

 _The beast behind her held its snout close to her neck and exhaled a hot breath that blew her hair forward. By a thrill of its nose, a puff of moisture sprayed the back of Farren's neck, and she trembled. Suddenly, a mass of gray fur vaulted over her head, it landed on four legs in the grassy clearing._

 _Farren saw the beast as it stood. A large gray wolf, the height of a man, baring sharp white fangs, it's tongue peeking out through them. It circled the small rabbit with bloodlust in its eyes, and drool dripping from its chin. She and her brother stood transfixed, unable to look away from the sight._

 _Farren's heart pounded, she saw fear in the little doe's eyes and the sight angered her. Finding a strong urge to fight the beast, she slowly reached down and took up the broken branch by her heel. She fixed her eyes on the wolf, proclaiming him her target, and drew back her arm, ready to stab,_

 _"Don't Farren!"_ Fiver _shouted he clutched her wrist tightly to stop her. "Look." His arm jet forward, and he pointed at straight ahead. Farren was shocked at what she saw, The wolf lay in the grass, with the rabbit nestled against his fur. The beast was kind and harmless as it delicately nuzzled the rabbit with its snout._

 _Farren gazed at the scene in awed confusion, the stick she held slipped from her fingers and fell beside her. She watched, unblinking as the wolf curled its tail around the rabbit, it lay down its head and its eye's became tired slits. The rabbit no longer trembled, her eyes held no fear. Instead, the doe rabbit huddled safely, practically disappearing in the wolf's warm, thick fur. The sight of the rabbit and wolf entranced Farren. Her heart tingled with warmth. It was the same feeling she received when she Robb embraced her. Shadows passed over the grass, Farren looked at the sky and saw a storm cloud cover the sky. The vast gray cloud swallowed the sunlight, and suddenly the air turned cold, and the forest dark and the sense of fear returned to Farren._

 _"Fiver?" Farren called to her brother. She looked around, and her brother was gone. "Fiver where are you?!"_

 _The sky rumbled, and lightning crashed. Farren gasped, she turned and saw the wolf stood abruptly, ready and on guard, and it stepped forward to survey the land, and he held his paw pointed in anticipation. A growl sounded from the wood, a shriek of horror. In a flash of red fur, something snatched the rabbit. Farren's eyes grew wide when a bright red fox-eyed her, it's yellow eyes caught the light and shimmered, in its teeth, it held the doe rabbit in its mouth. "She's still alive." Farren gasped. The wolf glared at the scene, and from him arose a growl that shook the treetops, their leaves rustled violently, and suddenly the fox broke into a sprint, bolting like red lighting with the rabbit held firmly in its jaws. The wolf took off after the thieving fox. "Wait!" Farren cried out, "Wait!"_

 _..._

Farren gasped, and woke with a jolt. She sat up panting in bed, her nightdress clung to her breast, dampened with sweat as her chest rose and fell. The nightmare's lingering feelings of dread kept her heart racing for a few long moments before the frightened beneath in her ribs began to calm. Her visions had been a dream, a dream that became a horrifying nightmare. Light crept into her bedchamber window and softly filled the room. Rubbing the pain in her head, Farren groaned. Her forehead throbbed when the pinging racket of a smith's hammer resonated up from the courtyard. The clucking of hungry hens was no sweet sound. When she heard a knock at the chamber door, Farren slammed her head down into her pillow and moaned.

"Whhaatt?" She grumbled.

"M'lady," Said a voice accompanying another knock. "Your lady mother asked me to wake you, and she requests that you dress and pack your things."

Pack? Farren lifted her head curiously. "What for?"

"Your lady mother received word from the Warren, your brother is very ill, and Your Lady mother is anxious to be by his side and has decided you're to depart this afternoon."

"Wa...what?"

* * *

After breakfast, Farren sat solemnly on a small bench outside the stables. The sky was overcast and gray to match her mood. She stared at a puddle that formed in the middle of the yard. The dirt gave it a murky, clouded appearance, just like her future seemed to be now, uncertain. Delicate frost crystals had formed around the small pool's edges. She wished the thing had frozen over during the night, then perhaps it would've snow, and their departure delayed until the week's end. Then they could have dined with the Starks. Holly would not have it. She was a dedicated a mother, and no storm would prevent her from getting back to her sick son.

Farren sighed and glanced at the courtyard, where a stable hand was busy hitching horses to a carriage. Servants worked on loading it with travel trunks and luggage, shuffling to prepare for the Frith's departure. A small girl weaved through the crowd. Farren forced a bright smile when she saw her young cousin skipping across the buzzing courtyard towards her. Nora, a blond haired girl near Fiver's age, moved with the boundless energy of an innocent child and her cheeks glowed with returned health. Holly had nursed her back to health weeks ago. She deftly weaved her way around two burly men hoisting and a trunk and woman with a broad basket on her hip to reach Farren's side.

"I wish I could have spent more time with you." Farren embraced the small girl tightly.

Farren found Nora adorable, the girl's lip stuck out in a pout and her blue eyes shined with a child's disappointment. "Can't you stay a while longer Farren?" She pleaded.

"I would love to, but I can't I'm afraid. My brother is fallen ill, and my mother want's to be by his side," Farren sighed sorrowfully, stroking back the younger girl's blonde locks.

The previous evening a rider had delivered an urgent message from the Bolton lands regarding Fiver's health. Fiver had been born a sickly child, and no maester could explain his ailment. He would often speak of unusual places and people he whose names he did not know, frequently claiming to see them in his dreams.

To many, it might seem a great gift, but Fiver would seldom wake up with fascinating stories. Most times he woke in tears. Farren believed her Grandfather when he claimed the gods were the cause of Fiver's abnormality. Blackaver had told Fiver the old gods granted him his visions, and he said the first men would have claimed Fiver had a gift, but the maesters thought differently. Although she believed in the power of the gods, Farren agreed with the maesters, the visions her brother received were no gift.

She knew, she had seen what utter torment and suffering they brought Fiver first hand. On occasion, he would fall to the ground, his body left shaking as he gasped for air, and his eyes would grow lifeless, turning an eerie, milky white. Falling into a doze, he'd wake moment's later, weak but wide-eyed, and quickly speaking of his fantasies. He'd talk about bloody battles, brave knights, fire-breathing dragons and men with crystal blue eyes. Farren envied her brother's imagination but wept for Fiver, and prayed for his health.

"Mother said Lord Stark's son, courted you over your stay," Nora changed the subject, her face lighting up with excitement. I see Lord Stark's son often, riding in the valley, he's so very handsome like the prince's from the songs." The little girl blushed heavily, fiddled with her skirts, and gazed up at Farren eagerly. "Tell me, tell me, did he show you all of Winterfell?"

"Yes, he did," Farren chuckled at her little cousin's girlish adoration.

"Do you think you will marry Robb Stark, and move to Winterfell?"

Farren's eyes widened, and she paused, taken aback by the younger girl's blatant question. "I, I don't know." She admitted, she looked at young Nora and felt funny for speaking so shyly.

"I so hope you do," Nora said with a dreamy look in her eye.

"I do as well." Farren smiled wistfully. "I'm sure I will see him again soon," she said, more to herself for reassurance than to Nora. The younger girl saw through her mask, her little perceptive blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Why do you seem upset?"

"I..I have grown so fond of him, and I hadn't even a chance to tell him farewell. I can not show up to Winterfell unannounced,"

"It would not be right for me to come knocking at the gate without them knowing you are coming. You must send a letter." Nora said matter-of-factly.

"I would, but your father keeps no ravens on hand." Farren shrugged. Robb must know, she had to tell him, to send word as soon as possible, but Lord Aurum had no maester and therefore no ravens. How did he get along without them?

"The post rider only comes before noon." Nora held a finger to her mouth and hummed in thought, "But there is a raven tower just outside the nearest village."

Farren's brow rose. "The village near here has a public maester?"

"Mmmhmm." Nora nodded, "He's an old man. He serves the people by order of Lord Cerwyn."

"I can send a message to Robb before we leave! I will tell him to meet me on the king's road," Farren whispered to herself, she looked at Nora, and the grinning young girl tipped her head in anticipation. "We can make it to the village if we hurry." Nora took Farren's hand, "Come'on I'll show you."

* * *

Leaving the Aurum keep was effortless. Farren had expected at least a single guard to stop her, but the small keep's holdings were humble, nothing the Warren. Nora had explained that the sentinels only patrolled the castle's rear at night, and so one could come and go as they pleased. Farren wished she had known that fact weeks ago.

They hurried down a pressed dirt path that led from the keep to the woodlands.

Once they were deep within the forest, Nora sprinted far ahead. Farren sped up behind and found her trudging through the leaves several yards from the path.

An ancient fallen tree lay across the forest floor. The large gray trunk was home to patches of moss, its gnarled, twisted roots protruding from the ground surrounding it. Nora ran around to the base and peered into the ditch where it once stood. Farren glanced ahead, eager to reach the village.

"Nora, how much further?" She mumbled, and received no response. Trying to keep her patience centered, she followed Nora who ducked below the fallen tree. When she popped back up, the young girl sighed. She brushed her hands off on her frock.

"Who's gone?" Farren pondered aloud, and she peered into the ditch.

"There was a fox who used to live down there with her four baby kits."

"A fox?"

A fox.

Farren looked into the vacant den, and her mind churned. Why did the animal seem familiar, as if she had just seen it?"A fox lived here?"

"Yes, and four baby kits." Nora tugged Farren's hand, "Come on. The village is just a little further!"

As Nora had promised, it didn't take them much longer to reach the village. Quaintly established, huts made up the small hamlet. Farren counted only four stone buildings in all, and a single two-story structure in the center, a round tower with open windows. Ravens perched in the gray stone alcoves. Farren watched one take flight as she tied her horse to a hitching fence. Nora skipped ahead to the tower's wooden door. It took all her strength to push it open. Farren poked her head inside, and jumped, covering her ears when she heard a loud rattled call of a bird.

"CAAAAW." A raven perched above the doorway welcomed her with a loud cackle. Farren hummed in annoyance, "Hello to you as well."

Dusky and dark, the round apothecary smelled of herbs and incense. Smoke filled the room, swirling up from a bowl, rising in clouds made visible in the light cast by a single large window. Nora skipped about and shuffled through the shelves. "Good morning Maester Santon," she sang as she helped herself to the writing supplies. "It is if you say so, my lady," replied the old maester. He chuckled with genuine humor. "And who might you be my dear?"

"This is Lady Farren." Nora said she pointed to a shelf out of her reach, "Can I borrow the inkwell, please." The master retrieved it with a warm-hearted expression. Nora spread out the supplies and nudged Farren into a stool. Farren looked at the maester smiled, beside her Nora leaned close to her ear, and whispered, "Just write while he talks."

Farren held back a laugh as she moved her pen swiftly. By the fourth dip in the inkwell, the maester had given a history lesson on the village, with a detailed comparison to the town in which he grew up. Farren did her best to listen as she wrote.

...

 **Dear Robb,**

 **I hope this message finds you quickly. A letter brought word that my brother has fallen ill. My mother rushes to be by his side and has demanded we leave the valley in haste. We travel within the quarter-hour, north toward Winterfell along the Kings Road. We shall pass the Winterfell Junction. Please meet me there so we can speak. I assure you it is essential, that I hope to see you.**

 **Fondly loving,**

 **Farren**

...

As the ink grew dry, she tightly rolled the small scroll, tied it with twine, and addressed it to Robb Stark of Winterfell. With a small sense of relief, Farren sighed as she placed her scroll in the man's old wrinkled hand.

"If there is a response, I'll have it sent to castle Aurum." The maester said. Farren watched the scroll as the maester tied a leather twine around the parchment. "Did you know Castle Aurum used to receive mail from over the ridge?"

"Pardon?" Farren raised a brow. More stories? Farren looked at the maester with uncertainty. She cared not about the mail over the ridge, but being polite, she could not ignore the old man, even with Nora tugging her wrist, to a motion to the door. "I...we should really..." Farren stuttered, she pointed to the door then pressed her lips reluctantly, then smiled at the kind old maester, "I...what about the mail over the ridge?"

Nora threw back her head, with a drained sigh, "It only came twice a week."

"It came only twice a week." The maester reiterated waving a considerate finger in the air. As the maester continued, Farren's smile withered, she eyed the maester with a desperate plea in mind. /Please, Gods, send my raven first./

"You see my lady, the post rider delivers to Lord Aurum every morning. I had a hand in that arrangement. I told the young lord he needed to converse with Lord Cerwyn, to just speak and say he needed the assistance, and so do you know what he did?"

Nora looked up with a droll expression, and weary answer, "He went to the Lord."

"He did." The ancient maester said brightly, "He did just that. A shy lordling Aurum is, I call him that still, but I told him he need not be timid before Lord Cerwyn, an-"

The sudden sound of galloping horses had the maester pause to look out the window, Oh look, rabbit banners."

 _Oh Gods._ Farren held her breath, she hoped the old man was mistaken. _Mother can't be that impatient._ She thought as her gaze flitted towards the window and the commotion outside. Over a dozen riders gathered in the street, white and green rabbit banners of House Firth fluttering in the breeze behind them. There was no mistaking the rabbit sigil. These were their men and Holly likely sent the whole company. Farren felt a tug on her dress, and two small hands pushed on her lower back as Nora nudged her forward, toward the door. As she urged Farren out the door, the young girl mumbled drolly, "Thank you, Maester Sandon."

"-Yes thank you." Speaking swiftly, Farren smiled at the old man.

"You are most welcome my lady."

As the old man nodded, her eyes settled on the scroll in his fist. Nudged over the threshold, Farren felt another tug on her dress, Nora glanced up and whispered, "Farren...it's your mother."

When she saw Holly on horseback among the riders, Farren pressed her lips tightly. She fought the urge to voice her frustration with the woman's lack of patience. Holly was clearly annoyed, but as always kept her composure, allowing her eyes to narrow into a bitter squint. Farren noticed a small scroll in her hand. "Ser Alyson," Holly gave the paper to the mounted knight beside her. Farren ignored her mother's stern gaze. She watched the knight hop down from his horse and saunter past her, glancing back she saw him hand the scroll to the old maester. "For Lord Stark of Winterfell."

Casually, with a hesitant step, Farren approached her mother's horse, keeping her eyes on the ground, "What's the letter for?" She asked before thinking, swiftly biting her tongue when she realized the women could have questioned the same.

"We will not be attending the Stark's dinner." Holly said, "I sent a decline to Lord Eddard, telling of our great regret."

Farren looked at the ground bitterly, kicking up dirt with the toe of her boot. She refused to meet her mother's gaze, grinding her teeth, she accepted the reigns Ser Alyson handed her. She said no more, and mounted the only riderless horse, tugging Nora up into the saddle behind. Thick gray clouds propelled by a chilling breeze, the weather fittingly to matched her mood. Under the now deeply overcast sky, Farren hung her head as she road, listening to the clip-clop of horse hooves on the village lane.

As the party moved away from the village, a sudden noise from above, made Farren look up. A flutter of flapping accompanied a clamor of wings overhead, a loud rattled call-

"CAAAAW."

A raven drove into the air and soared toward the gray skyline, the bird's silhouette quickly became a black dot on the horizon. The black speck hovered among the gray landscape. As it faded into the sky, a thin ray of light broke through the clouds. Farren smiled, knowing the bird headed north to Winterfell, Her heart felt lighter than it had been moments before.

* * *

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

... Thank you guys for reading, I really appreciate you guys and love reading your comments.

 **Next Chapter Preview- Farren recalls the nightmare and tries to decipher its meaning. She struggles to get along with her mother while attempting to cope with Robb's response.**


End file.
